Out of the Blue: High Flight
by Fiat Incantatum
Summary: Before the Boy Who Lived... Before Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs... Before the Order of the Phoenix... Who opposed Voldemort in the beginning? Who lived? Who died? Who has been forgotten? One woman remembers them.
1. A Reel Around the Sun

_The storms of late winter lashed a remote portion of the western coast of Scotland and roiled the surface of a normally placid loch. If Muggles had looked upon the scene, they would have seen nothing more than a ruined heap of stone perched on a rocky tidal island. Had the watchers been wizards, however, they would have seen a fortress fading in and out of the curtains of wet snow, seen lights in the windows in every tower. They would have seen dark shapes gliding to the water's edge, bowing in greeting to the tall, impossibly slender figure that crossed the island's causeway at low tide. The watchers would not, however, have come close enough to hear the words that the figure spoke._

"It begins now."

The late-summer sunlight streamed through the tower's windows and showered gold across the carpeted floor of the Headmaster's office. Albus Dumbledore, newly appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was speaking.

"And in conclusion, we have located, with Professor Tiresia's kind assistance, an individual who may be available to fill the positions of flying teacher and Quidditch coach for the coming year. She is a professional Quidditch player, currently on medical leave, who comes highly recommended by the Quidditch Federation."

Professor Minerva McGonagall, head of Transfiguration, sniffed dismissively, for she already knew the identity of the "individual" that Tiresia had found for them. "I certainly hope she's learned to comport herself with a bit more dignity since she was here last, Professor, although I expect that I would be disappointed were I to expect it. I've heard dreadful stories about the wild things she and the rest of those...those women get up to; she's not the sort of person that one would _wish_ to have in charge of impressionable young witches and wizards..."

"She would be a valuable addition to our number, Minerva, and I have every reason to believe that she will be entirely professional. Her experience, not to mention her enthusiasm for the game, will be a significant improvement over recent years."

Professor McGonagall nodded in reluctant agreement. She disapproved of Quidditch on principle, but even she had to accept that the excess energies of youth required a physical outlet, however frivolous it might be. There was also a desperate need for a more organized program for the flying lessons. Both subjects were in an appalling state compared to how it had been even five years previously. 

The last few years of Armando Dippet's administration had been marked by a similar rapid decline in most of the teaching facilities at Hogwarts. A number of professors had departed to seek other employment, leaving them desperately short of staff. When the Board of Governors had appointed Dumbledore Headmaster during the previous spring, they had particularly charged him with returning the school to its former prominence in the fastest manner possible. Still, she had insisted repeatedly that the positions of flying instructor and Quidditch coach cried out for a respectable witch or wizard, an honorable person who would be a proper role model for the students. The sort of hoyden one found playing professional Quidditch was completely unsuitable in a proper academic atmosphere, she had contended. Especially one with the history that _this_ particular young woman had; the school's discipline would suffer tremendously should the students decide to emulate her, which they almost certainly would. 

"She is currently immured in St Mungo's, recovering from the injuries she sustained in the spring. If she consents to join us, she will arrive at the start of the term."

Light from the same sun slanted in through the windows of an office on the topmost floor of St. Mungo's Hospital in London, bouncing from the glass fronts of the cases lining the walls before finally coming to rest on the bust of Paracelsus above the door.

"I am pleased that you have chosen to follow my advice."

"There wasn't much of a choice, was there? Once my captain learned of the 'danger' if I continued to play, she forced me to apply for leave at wand-point."

"Continuing to play was never an option. You absolutely must not risk another accident of such severity until you are fully recovered. At least a year, preferably longer. Another injury, so soon after the recent ones, would almost certainly result in permanent impairment. We Healers may command magic, but miracles are still rather beyond our capabilities. You are also well aware that you need to rebuild lost muscle gradually or else risk further injuries when you return to the field."

"I've an offer for a teaching position for the coming year that I have decided to accept. Hogwarts should be safe enough and I will have all the time and facilities that I need to recondition."

"Indeed, teaching will be a far less hazardous way to spend your leave time. I will look forward to seeing you again early next summer, then. Best of luck to you, Miss Hooch."


	2. Journeytime

Thank you to everyone who has helped make this story real. To Lupinesque for the initial bunny, which she inflicted on me on February 18, 2002. Thanks, it's taken over my life. To Romana, britpicker and general fabulous person. To various Musely types, who've been encouraging and patient. To anyone who's ever answered a strange question or dealt with one of my nonsequitirs or promoted this story, whether I've seen it or not. And to Haggridd, who was the first editor for _High Flight. _We didn't get along, so I couldn't work with you for very long, but you influenced this story in good ways and taught me a lot during our brief association. I always wished I could have shown it to you again and gotten your opinion, but I knew I couldn't handle the delivery of the opinion, and now it's too late. Rest in peace, knowing that I regret the way that things turned out. - Fiat

* * *

**Journeytime **

"I must have been mad to agree to this."

The Muggles who waited to catch early morning trains paid no attention to the speaker as she limped into Kings Cross Station. Even if they had, the appearance of the young woman, obviously relying heavily on a cane for support and carrying a pair of long, tapered cases, would have lead them to believe she was, perhaps, a down-on-her-luck downhill skier. They would never have guessed that she was a witch.

Despite having the shrunken appearance of a person who had been very ill recently, Xiomara Rolanda Hooch was wiry, with a Quidditch player's broad shoulders. Aside from the thick streaks of white adorning her temples, her short, disorderly hair was dark. Her gaze was clear and direct, her blue eyes as guileless and uncomplicated as the summer sky, unless you happened to be an opponent in possession of the Quaffle. Her face, which ought to have been tanned from playing Quidditch in all weathers, was a pasty, unhealthy shade and laced with a network of healing scars. Ro Hooch had always been closer to "interesting" than to "pretty," but when she smiled-as she frequently did-she radiated infectious cheer and enthusiasm that charmed everyone around her.

She paused just long enough to make certain that none of the Muggles were watching before she slipped through the barrier and onto the platform. She continued talking to herself as she passed under the iron arch. "It has to have been the crack on the head. 'Madam Hooch, flying instructor and Quidditch coach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' The rest of the girls are probably _still_ laughing."

The platform was nearly deserted, occupied by a couple of witches pushing a cart laden with paper-wrapped packages and one sober-looking wizard juggling a briefcase, a container of coffee, and a folded-up newspaper. None of them paid the slightest attention to Ro, either. She maneuvered awkwardly up the three steps into the lone carriage, grateful that it would not be much longer before she could sit down again. Fortunately, her baggage had preceded her to Hogwarts, so she had to deal with only the two broom cases.

The train, like the platform, was virtually empty and the second compartment she looked into was deserted. She stowed her brooms carefully on the overhead rack, along with her cane, before sinking gratefully into the corner of one of the benches, feeling unexpectedly depressed. Homesickness, such as she had not felt during the long months of her convalescence, descended on her like a weight. For many years now, "home" had meant Holyhead and the Harpies and it would be a year or more before she returned to them.

She eyed the empty compartment sourly. It might not be Muggle transportation for this journey, but that didn't mean she had to be pleased about it. She had not missed traveling at all during the past half-year of enforced bed rest. Eight seasons with the Quidditch League had exposed her to the worst that the insides of trains, buses, and automobiles had to offer, enough to last her a very long time, not to mention that she'd had her fill of riding in grimy trams during her childhood. Granted, the train to Hogsmeade was hardly in the same class as those. _This_ compartment was clean, thank Merlin, but while it might be comfortable, it was not the way she preferred to travel. If she had had things her way-but she had not and she would not. She would not be up to flying long distances for quite some time. Her unhappy expression said very plainly, however, that as far as she was concerned, if it did not involve a broom, it had no business calling itself "travel."

There had been a time when she had felt differently about the Hogwarts Express, of course. She clearly recalled the September day when she had followed her guides through the barrier and onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for the first time...

_"Come _on_, Mara! All the best seats will be taken, hurry!"_

_Mara Hooch struggled through the crowded train station with her bag of precious books clutched protectively to her chest. Her progress was seriously hampered by the too-helpful actions of two of Ceara's young brothers, Cadell and Caradoc. They were too young to go to Hogwarts themselves, being only eight years old, but they seemed to feel that it was their responsibility to make sure that their sister and her friend were sent off to school in the proper style. For some reason, this seemed to require making a great deal of noise. Mara, with no younger siblings of her own and no noisy siblings at all, found the boys' boisterous attentions somewhat disconcerting. In fact, the entire Taylor family had come to see the two of them off in "proper" fashion; Ceara's father was trying with little success to steer a baggage cart clear of obstacles while nine-year-old Alun pushed at it vigorously and Ceara's mother was busy making sure that five-year-old Trystan did not get into anyone's way while struggling to keep hold of the baby, who was squirming and complaining at the top of her lungs. Amazingly, no one in Kings Cross paid them any notice as they made their way through the station, despite Rhiannon's earsplitting shrieks._

_Then Ceara pulled her right up to a solid brick wall, which turned out at the last moment to be not quite so solid after all. On the other side of it, Mara stopped dead in the middle of the archway, the crowd before her parting as if by design to show her what was surely the biggest, shiniest, _reddest_ locomotive that ever been. It was beautiful: bright and steaming, chuffing to itself as though as eager to be away as she was._

_Ceara grabbed her wrist again and hauled her unceremoniously through the milling witches and wizards to the first set of steps she could find._

_"Come on, in here. Look for the first empty compartment."_

_Ceara's family gathered outside the window once the girls had found seats, laughing and talking at the top of their voices until the train whistle made further speech impossible. It was only when the train had pulled away and picked up speed that Mara finally dared to relax; she really _was_ on her way to Hogwarts and there would be no last minute capricious judgment to prevent her..._

To her eleven-year-old self, the scarlet steam engine had been the most incredible transportation imaginable, but that had been before she had learned to fly. Still, even though a good deal of the initial wonder had worn off with experience and the intervening years, it seemed to her as though her own "story" had begun with that first glimpse of the Hogwarts Express.

Ro stared out of the window as the train lurched and started to pull away from the station, her eyes still focused on the vision of her first journey. It wasn't until the witch with the tea cart knocked on her compartment door that she returned to the present. _Here I am, on the way to Hogwarts once again, and no one came this time, either, to tell me to stay behind at the last minute._ She realized as she thought it that she had been expecting that someone _would_ come, just as she had expected it years ago. The difference was that this time, she wasn't sure that she _wanted_ to go to Hogwarts. If she had ever considered what it might be like to go back to the school, she would have expected to return in triumph, perhaps after the World Cup. Arriving as an invalid, barely able to walk, felt like failure. Still, it was bound to be more exciting than the hospital bed she had just left. Nearly anything _would_ have been, though.

The countryside rolled by her window as she tried to force herself to remember just a little more of that last day before the hospital, of the last game she had played. _I know that Morgan lectured us, because she always does, and then we lined up. Definitely remember seeing both Seekers turn their heads to follow the Snitch when they turned it loose. That was right before the whistle blew, because I remember thinking that I can't tell where it goes when it's released unless they look._ She tried to recall what had come next, but there was nothing. Between the referee's whistle blast and the first confused awakening in the hospital, there was nothing but a sort of foggy, blank grayness. According to the _Daily Prophet_, the game had gone on for several hours, but she could not recall them. She didn't remember the goals she had scored, either, but there had been several of them before she had flown headlong into a Bludger and lost control of her broom.

Regardless of what had happened during the match, nearly a week had passed before she regained consciousness in the hospital and it had been a fortnight before she understood why she was confined to bed, under so many magical bindings that she could do no more than blink her eyes.

She had thought it would drive her mad, lying motionless for weeks with nothing in sight but the vaulted ceiling. She was again grateful for having spent most of the first month unconscious. Having so many broken bones pieced together over so many days would have been excruciating despite the very best pain-killing magic, or so they'd told her. Once the bones had been set, the actual healing had taken a very long time, during which she had alternated between bored and frustrated on an almost hourly basis. What would have been a straightforward bit of Healing in a child was several orders of magnitude more difficult in an adult. At least, that was the answer they gave her whenever she had demanded to know "how much longer?" There was no magic that could have Healed the damage any faster; not and still left her able to play Quidditch the way she had before the accident.

Once her bones had knit well enough to please the Healers, well enough that they dared allow her to move again, she had received another rude shock. Her newly healed body, immobilized for so long, had been so stiff that she could not even get out of bed without being lifted, let alone mount a broomstick. It had only been in the last month that her Healer had been willing to let her attempt to fly. The first time, she had been unable to kick off properly and it had taken her several embarrassingly clumsy tries to get into the air at all. _Gods, I miss flying, though. I can't remember when I last spent so much time on the ground._ She had been confined to the Leopoldina Smethwyk Quidditch Injuries ward, on the ground floor of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and it had not had much of a view of the sky. She supposed it had been built that way deliberately, meant to encourage obsessed Quidditch players to heal faster, just so that they could get out of the ward again.

This thought brought her right back to the original problem. The teams that made up the Quidditch League were open-handed with their players, but it was the rule that players were not paid for time spent on the injured list, not even top players. Even with the generous contribution from the Federation, which had had a stake in her speedy recovery, she had barely been able to cover the costs of reconstructing her shattered bones, not to mention the physical therapy she had needed in order to walk again. Furthermore, her physical reserves were as depleted by her injuries as the pile of Galleons in her vault. A year on the Hogwarts faculty _would_ go a long way towards replenishing her savings-a year in which she could also recover her strength and stamina. _I can't think when I've been this worn out. Not in years. Not since I was sixteen._ Whether she wanted to go or nor, the fact of the matter was that she _needed_ to go to Hogwarts.

The sun had risen fully by now, but Ro decided there would still be plenty of time to get a bit more rest before the train reached the station in Hogsmeade. _A very long fall from the days when I could play all of a five-day Quidditch match and still enjoy every one of the parties afterwards._ She arranged herself more comfortably against the end of her bench and fell into a light doze, lulled by the swaying of the car and the sound of the wheels on the tracks.

She was sleeping far more deeply than she had intended by the time the train reached its destination. Enmeshed in a vivid and detailed dream- one that included the Gryffindor Seeker and a great deal of lavender bubble bath- it took her several long, confused minutes to emerge far enough to react to her surroundings. _Where did _that_ come from? Nothing like that ever...ah, well._ She shook her head vigorously in an attempt to clear it.

_All right, now,_ she thought a bit fuzzily, peering out the window. _Oh yes, we're here._ She knuckled sleep out of her eyes and slowly got to her feet. Her muscles had stiffened again during the journey and she was forced to cling to the compartment wall for support until she could fish her cane out from under her broom cases. She still was not absolutely sure that she should trust the cane; it had been a going-away present from her teammates, a few of whom harbored rather odd ideas of what was "funny." It was a distinct possibility that one or more of them had done something to it in the way a joke. With this in mind she handled it carefully, the way one might handle an unexploded dung bomb. If it was all that it seemed to be, however, it _was_ quite a thoughtful gift; exactly the right height and topped with a head in the shape of a talon clutching a Quaffle, made out of some gold-colored metal. She had been touched by the care the gift represented, despite the fact that no sane person would trust the collective sense of humor of the Holyhead Harpies.

She contemplated the long walk up to the castle as she made her slow, painful way down the corridor. She wondered whether or not it would be worth her while to unpack one of the brooms to make the trip easier. She supposed she _ought_ to walk the distance, that it would be good for her, but she wasn't sure she wanted to and there _was_ the alternative of flying, which was what she really wanted to do. When she emerged from the train, however, a booming voice greeted her from high above her head and distracted her from her intentions.

"Doing all right there, Ro? Heard yeh was coming to teach at Hogwarts this year." The voice belonged to the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, larger than life and at least twice as broad.

"Hagrid! So you're still here?" Ro felt a grin of pure pleasure at the sight of her old friend pulling against the scars on her face. "You mean your pets haven't carried you off yet?" Hagrid's "creatures" had always been something of a joke during her time at Hogwarts.

Hagrid sidestepped the question as neatly as he might elude a charging unicorn-which is to say very easily indeed-and beamed down at her. "Teachin' at Hogwarts! Youngest in centuries! I remember when yeh was in yer first year and now, just look at yeh..." Hagrid's voice trailed off and he goggled at her as she emerged into the sunlight.

Ro grimaced and then hurriedly smoothed her expression. Her medical file referred to the still-visible results of her injuries as "Extensive Surface Damage." Although it was no longer serious and would not be permanent, it was dramatic-looking and occasionally attracted a great deal of attention. "A Bludger got me, Hagrid, that's all. It looks more painful than it is. I'm perfectly fine now, except for the leg." She rather hoped that her words were the truth.

Hagrid looked skeptical. "That looks to be th' work of more'n just a Bludger, no matter what th' papers said. What _really_ happened?"

_He _wouldn't_ give up that easily, would he._ "I don't know much more than you do, then, sorry to say. Most of what I know came from the _Prophet_, too. Don't remember a thing. Came directly to the train this morning from the hospital." She bent and picked up her broom cases before Hagrid could offer to take them, slinging them over her back as she stood up.

Hagrid's eyebrows ascended into his wild hair, but he refrained from commenting on the length of her hospital stay. The two of them left the station and started up the gentle slope towards Hogwarts Castle, Hagrid somehow managing to slow his usual pace to something suitable. "So. Yeh played after Hogwarts, like yeh wanted. Harpies, right? Professor Dumbledore tol' us about it when he said yeh was coming. Like it?"

"It's been great, really wonderful. They made me take this year off, though, I'm not allowed back on the field until the Healers say I can." Trying not to sound resentful was getting more and more difficult, the farther into exile she went. The memory of Gwyneth Morgan standing over her while she completed the forms needed for medical leave still rankled. That the Healers had been standing by, beaming their approval, made it even worse.

"Ye'll be wanting a rest an' dinner, then. The students arrive tomorrow, y'know. Got ter meet yer fellow professors b'fore they get here. Lots o' the teachers'll be new ter ya, see. Last few years, a bunch of 'em left fer other jobs, anywhere ter be away from the school. Quite a few of 'em gone, except Flitwick an' Jigger-and Dumbledore himself, o' course. Now that _he's_ Headmaster, maybe some o' the others will come back. There're more brand new ones this term besides you..." Hagrid rambled on happily, gossiping about the professors and staff members as they walked slowly up the long road from the station to the castle. He had been right; the names were either entirely unfamiliar or remembered only vaguely from her student days.

By the time he finally run out of words, the castle had come into view. Hogwarts Castle had not changed at all in the nine years since she had last seen it. Of course, Hogwarts had not changed much in the past ninety years, either, but that was irrelevant. Then, as they came around the edge of the Forbidden Forest and could see past the castle proper, her eyes touched upon something that _had_ changed. She stopped dead, horrified.

"Merlin's moustache, what _happened_?"

Hagrid shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, not looking at her. "Ah. Well. Old-ah, that is, Headmaster Dippet, he said there wasn't no need for it, see? Said students ought ter have more important things ter think about than 'foolish noise.' Got a bit... strange, I guess. After he left, there were heaps of old tea balls an' biscuit tins in his quarters. Looked like he'd been collecting 'em for years. He's at St. Mungo's now, though, and they take good care of him. They're very fond of him..."

"But-the Quidditch field," she interrupted before he could start nattering again. "How could it _possibly_... how did it get like... like _this_?" Aghast, she surveyed the sagging stands and the ploughed-up heaps of earth that punctuated the weedy surface of the pitch. Some of the holes looked large enough to swallow a small dragon and have room left for afters.

"Ah. Well, the field wasn' repaired 't all or... or anything, really. You know how 'tis. And without no one ever using it, nobody noticed when th' moles got in and, well-y' c'n see what _they_ did." Seeing her expression, he hurried to reassure her. "Dumbledore's already seeing to it, though. We were jus' waitin' fer you to get here; he said he wants yeh to supervise the work yourse'f an' put in whatever bits might be useful to yeh. Said ye'd know best what it should be like, being professional an' all. There's a bunch arriving firs' thing tomorrow morning to help yeh." Hagrid clapped Ro on the back with unusual gentleness, for him, and said, "By th' time Quidditch season starts, it'll be as good as b'fore, or even better! The students will be excited, they don' know they'll be playing Quidditch this year. They'll find out at the Feast tomorrer night. The entire school is getting a good going-through. Everything will be made right now that Professor Dumbledore's the Headmaster..."

Ro averted her eyes as they passed the goalposts at the far end of the field. Two of them were leaning at crazy angles and one had broken at the base and lay half in, half out of the scoring area. The next ten months were going to be even more difficult than she had thought.

They left the ruined Quidditch pitch behind and soon came to a small, slate roofed cottage surrounded by a low dry-stone wall. The building, traditional home of the Quidditch coach, was set midway between the end of the stadium and the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Here Hagrid bade her goodbye and stumped off, leaving her to explore her new home.

Unlike the Gamekeeper's hut on the far side of the grounds, which was a rough-if not crude-single-roomed affair, this cottage boasted finished rooms, with a public office filling one end. The office had its own entrance facing the Quidditch stadium and what appeared to be a storage area overhead, accessible only by ladder. The room was easily large enough to serve as a classroom in foul weather. A large fireplace set into the wall between the office and the living area provided heat to both.

In one corner of the main room was a small space that would serve as both kitchen and dining room; it would not be necessary for her to make the trip up to the Great Hall for meals if she did not want to. There was a steep staircase, practically a ladder, that led upwards, and a door at the back led to what appeared to be a bathing room. The building still had the faint, lingering smell of abandonment to it, but in contrast to the Quidditch pitch, it was clean and tidy. Someone had clearly gone to some trouble to make it ready for her.

She was delighted to discover that there were enough bookshelves in the living area to hold all of her books, even the ones still on order. Best of all, there were several comfortable, overstuffed armchairs that practically demanded that one sit, relax, and immerse oneself in a book for a few hours. It was wonderful and, had she not known that the building had always stood here, she might have suspected that someone had designed it expressly for her.

The steep, ladder-like stair in the main room had handholds cut into the center of each tread, so Ro was able to pull herself up to the second floor with only a little difficulty. When she reached the second floor, she found herself on a tiny landing with two doors. The nearer door lead to a room with furnishings still swathed in sheets and she backed out onto the landing again. The other door must lead to the room that would be hers.

Her own room was in much more useable condition. She was pleased to see that her trunks had arrived safely, for they had been unpacked for her already, probably earlier that day. Inside the great scarred wardrobe she found several brand new sets of ordinary working robes hanging next to her familiar shabby clothing. There was also a set of regulation black and white referee's robes with the Hogwarts coat-of-arms on them, so new that the creases had not yet hung out. Next to them was a set of fancy-dress robes, an opulent version of the referee's uniform. Clearly, _those_ would be for feasts and the like, rather than for games. She was glad to see them; most of the clothing she had with her was shabby and comfortable. Anything she had that was suitable for public appearances was generally a Quidditch uniform. Her preferred clothing might suit _her_, but it was hardly going to be appropriate for a Hogwarts teacher.

In the center of the room was an immense four-poster bed hung with blue velvet curtains that looked as new as the robes. Someone had turned down the spread in silent invitation and the sight made up her mind; the walk up from the station had been longer than she remembered and there should be more than enough time for a restorative nap before dinner. She could explore more of her surroundings tomorrow. She sank gratefully into feather pillows and closed her eyes. Her last thoughts as she drifted off were of disgust that even walking tired her so much, still, and of how glad she would be when she no longer wasted so much of each day in sleep.

She felt much improved, if a bit stiff, when she opened her eyes several hours later and decided that she was ready to get to work. Descending the ladder again, she collected the broom cases from where she had left them near the door and stepped into the public area.

Her new office pleased her nearly as much as the rest of the building had. The cottage was close enough to the Quidditch field that she would be able to observe practices from her desk if she wished, yet far enough away that noise of them shouldn't disturb her otherwise. It also meant that she would be able to observe the progress of the reconstruction from her office window, for she could see most of the damage quite clearly from her chair. There was a surprising amount of empty space in the office, more than she needed for all of the things she had brought with her.

Several crates were waiting for her next to the battered desk. The first held only paperwork and she set that one aside in favor of the others. In the slanting light of late afternoon, she worked her way through all the boxes that had been packed for her-until she opened one and caught a glimpse of green fabric. Her breath caught, just for a moment, and then she closed the box, quickly setting it aside. She didn't need to look further inside it to know what it held: her uniforms. They would go into storage exactly as they were; it would be a long time before she would need any other uniform than the Hogwarts ones. She placed a few framed photos on the shelves behind the desk and stood for a moment, watching the cheerful people, herself included, that waved to her from out of the past. Then, with a shake, she pried the lid from the final crate that held gloves, greaves and other protective padding and found cupboard space for all of it, on the shelves above the tins, spools and bundles of broom maintenance equipment.

With the ease born of long practice, she assembled the pieces of her portable broom rack and placed it against the wall to one side of her new desk, where the heat from the fireplace would not reach the brooms. Then she opened the first of the two long cases she had carried so carefully up from the train. This one held her Nimbus 1000 and she examined it critically before lifting it out. There were no signs of the crash evident on it, although she knew it had been badly damaged. She'd been told that it had been sent to be reconditioned by Devlin Whitehorn himself, but she would just make absolutely sure of the repairs, the first chance she got. She placed the broom on the rack and turned back to her desk.

Then, at last, she opened the other case, the one that held her beloved Silver Arrow, the finest broom she had ever flown. Neither scratch nor smudge marred the mirror-like finish and the twigs were perfectly aligned, despite all the months it had been abandoned in its case during her convalescence. The Arrow went into its customary spot right at the top of the rack. She ran appreciative fingers over the insignia inlaid in the handle-a miniature silver arrow complete with carved feathers-and then along the narrow silver band that protected the brush binding. _Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful._ She ran the polishing cloth over it anyway and adjusted it with a final pat, then stood back and admired.

She'd missed this broom, more than she had even realized. Acquiring it had cost her most of the money she had earned during her first two years as a Harpy and it had taken her six months of work before it flew properly, but it had been worth the trouble. There had never been a better broom made anywhere, at any time. The Nimbus was newer, of course; faster and had more power, but she had always felt it lacked the subtlety of response that her Arrow had. She might even have managed to evade that last Bludger if she had been flying it during that last match, though she was also relieved that she had not. Silver Arrows had never been numerous and the manufacturer had stopped production a few years earlier. Arrows had been very popular as Quidditch brooms and, consequently, there weren't many of them left in good condition; if this one had been destroyed, she would have been unlikely to be able to locate another one, for any price.

The clock on the wall made a whirring sound and when she turned, she saw the hand moving to point towards "Dinner." Dinner was going to pose a problem for her. Hagrid had even recognized it: she was the youngest person to teach at Hogwarts in living memory. That fact alone would probably start her off at a disadvantage with the regular staff. Most of them were decades or even centuries her senior. She needed to make a good impression on them right from the start. The difficulty would be that many of them had been her own instructors and some of them would therefore be predisposed to have grave doubts about her fitness to be a colleague. It was going to very odd, indeed, to meet her former instructors as equals.

She grimaced. _Equals, indeed! I'll _never_ feel like one of them, no matter how much time I have to spend here._ At that, she wasn't sure she wanted to feel as though she fit in here. _At least I'm not going to be saddled with "Professor." "Madam" is going to be bad enough._

She performed a quick wash and change out of her traveling clothes-all she had time for-to ready herself for the ordeal. Unracking her broom, she stepped out into the evening air and managed a creditable, if uncharacteristically dignified, ascent into the sky.

She arrived at nearly the same time as the rest of the staff and found that she was to be seated next to Professor Flitwick, the diminutive Charms teacher, on one side of the long oval table. Flitwick was as enthusiastic and energetic as ever and peppered her throughout the meal with excited questions about the "work" she had been engaged in since leaving Hogwarts. He was crestfallen when he discovered that, apart from what was needed to maintain broomsticks, she'd mostly let her Charms skills go, but he brightened almost at once and before she realized what he was about, she heard herself agreeing to consider a review course in order to bring them "back up to scratch."

On her other side sat one of the other new staff members: Professor Azmidiske Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher. She was taller than Ro and her pleasant, musical accent indicated that she was from the southern portion of the Continent. She had lustrous black hair, dark eyes, and a flawless olive complexion, all of which made her one of the most fascinating women that Ro had met in recent years. _Galleons to Gobstones, Astronomy is going to become a _very_ popular subject._ Any interested students would surely find the woman as frustrating as Ro did, however, for Sinistra appeared to have no interest in anything earthly. Her English was excellent, but Ro discovered almost immediately that questions of a personal nature produced no more than a faintly puzzled frown and a look of polite inquiry, while questions on her subject earned Ro an intelligent and enthusiastic (not to mention lengthy) discourse full of conjunctions, right ascensions, declinations, and other astronomical esoterica. Sinistra did manage to return to earth long enough to grasp that Ro was a professional Quidditch player come to Hogwarts to teach flying but, aside from that brief moment, it was quite obvious that her attention was elsewhere, quite literally light years away from the table throughout the entire meal. It was rather like conversing with a centaur and Ro made a mental note to try to be on hand for some of those late night NEWT-level observatory sessions. They would no doubt be educational, on several levels, as well as entertaining.

Across the table and a few places closer to where Professor Dumbledore was seated was the second new member of the staff, Arithmancy teacher Honoria Vector. She was as plain as Sinistra was stunning, with an intense, focused quality about her that reminded Ro of nothing so much as a heron stalking a frog. From the sound of what little of the conversation Ro was able to overhear, Vector's mind was quite as sharp as any heron's bill had ever been. She appeared to be taking an enormous delight in skewering those seated nearest to her with witticisms.

The first of Vector's seatmates was Master Arsenius Jigger, who taught Potions. A curmudgeonly wizard in the middle of his second century, Professor Jigger had been Ro's Potions teacher during her time at Hogwarts. Nothing about him had changed in the slightest in the last nine years; not his robes, not his expression, and certainly not his demeanor. He managed to look as bored as ever throughout the entire dinner; his eyes barely flickered when Vector made one of her especially pointed remarks. Hagrid had told her that he was putting the final touches on his great manuscript and only marking time until it was published and he would be able to retire.

On Professor Vector's other side was a woman whom Ro remembered well from her time as a student, though not with any pleasure. This was Minerva McGonagall, Head of Transfiguration. She, like Jigger, had not changed much since Ro had first seen her. If anything, she was even more pinch-faced and disapproving than when she had arrived at Hogwarts at the start of Ro's third year. She had been an under-teacher then, one of Professor Dumbledore's most trusted assistants. Now, if Hagrid's gossip was in any way reliable, she was Dumbledore's unofficial second in command, as well as the Head of Gryffindor House and it was she that Ro suspected would have the greatest difficulty accepting Ro's elevation to "colleague" status. Professor McGonagall was taller than Sinistra and she wore square spectacles and very plain dark grey robes. Her black hair was pulled back in a mathematically precise bun and her thin face bore the same severe expression that had been a nearly permanent feature during Ro's final years at Hogwarts. The look she gave Ro whenever their glances crossed was cold, unfriendly, and disapproving. Each time, Ro favored her with an especially charming smile before turning away to answer another question from Professor Flitwick. _At least she can hold her own against both Vector's tongue and Jigger's attitude. That's a distinct improvement. Something in her favor, I suppose._ Still, Ro felt that those three teachers, in particular, deserved one another's company.

After dinner, Professor Dumbledore invited her to join him in the Headmaster's tower office. She seated herself carefully in an overstuffed armchair and watched with interest as he conjured cups of tea and a plate of sugar biscuits for the two of them. Professor Dumbledore was another part of Hogwarts that had remained essentially unchanged from the time she had first seen him, on her very first night at Hogwarts...

_Mara started when Ceara's elbow dug into her ribs._

_"That's him! There, with the long beard, that's Albus Dumbledore, the one that Papa told us about!" Ceara whispered, excited._

_Mara Hooch stood on tiptoe, straining to catch a glimpse of the legendary wizard over the heads of the other, taller, first years who stood huddled together in the gigantic entrance hall. As new as she was to the wizarding world, even _she_ had heard of the famous Albus Dumbledore. Ceara's father, a quiet, studious shadow of a man with the golden voice of a master storyteller, had taken it upon himself to entertain the family's young guest with stories drawn from the wizarding world's recent history. In particular, he had regaled them all with the tale of "Albus Dumbledore and the Downfall of Grindelwald." Even the youngest Taylors, who already knew the story by heart, had quieted down to hear their father tell of how Albus Dumbledore had defeated the most terrible Dark wizard the world had ever known after a long and perilous struggle and then had gone quietly back to teaching._

_That the story was true made it even more thrilling for Mara. She had never even thought what it would be like actually to meet someone as famous as Albus Dumbledore. Yet there he was, the most powerful wizard in all the world, smiling and welcoming _her_, Xiomara Hooch, and the rest of the first year students as though he were as ordinary as anyone else._

Dumbledore smiled cheerfully as he handed over a steaming cup. He certainly did not _look_ like the most powerful wizard in the world, nor did he look much older than he had on that first night. There were perhaps a few more white hairs in his beard but they still accounted for less than half of it. His expression was as it had ever been; at once calm and merry, as though he were at all times prepared equally for either laughter or calamity.

They enjoyed their tea in silence for a while and then Dumbledore set down his cup. "I daresay that the state of the Quidditch field came as something of a shock to you, Madam Hooch. Hagrid has informed you that the restoration is to begin without delay?"

"He did, sir." Unbidden, the specter of the ruined field rose up before her mind's eye and she shook her head to banish it again. "I would never have imagined that things could deteriorate so fast, but apparently they have done?" She left the question open, hoping for more information.

The Headmaster shook his head regretfully. "I am afraid that this is the flaw in too many magical constructions. While they are tended and used, they endure, but should they be abandoned, even for a short time, they appear to lose the will to continue and quickly fall into disrepair. Not all of them, of course, but too many of them were created thusly because it is easier and less costly to do so. We will not make that mistake again. In the morning, Hagrid will introduce you to those who will be responsible for the reconstruction. They will know what to do, you will only have to assist them in dealing with outsiders and make sure that they are treated fairly."

Ro was relieved. She had been worried about her role in the project ever since Hagrid had told her that they had been waiting for her to arrive before beginning. "It's just as well, sir. I know what good facilities are, but would not know how to build them, myself."

The Headmaster nodded. "Dealing with outsiders, however, is what you have been doing regularly and that will be what they most need.

"Did Hagrid have the chance to explain to you the damage done to our broom shed? No? Well, then I must be the one to inform you that at some point in the past few years the roof failed, a victim of the same neglect that destroyed the rest of the structures. The cracks became holes, which let in both weather and wild things. The combination has essentially destroyed everything inside." Ro cringed, appalled at the picture _those_ words conjured up and he nodded, smiling sympathetically. "I have already contacted a dealer in used goods, who is already seeking out broomsticks for us. These should do to replace a fair number of the damaged ones, even though they will undoubtedly be well past their best days. She has assured me that the brooms will be of acceptable quality and state of repair, but I would prefer that you make certain of this personally before you issue any of them to your students."

"Don't worry, sir. They will be as good as they can be before anyone else uses them. I've rebuilt brooms before. Sir- about the Quidditch, then. The House teams?"

"There are no teams, no players and no captains, so you will have to begin afresh. Oh, there are one or two of the seventh years who were on the reserves when they were in their second year, but none of them have ever had the chance to play for their Houses. You will not hurt for candidates, however. There are enough students from Quidditch-playing families that you should have very little difficulty locating players from among them."

Ro rather doubted she would have any trouble finding players. The problem was going to be weeding out the hopeless ones and letting them down gently.

"Professor Jigger kept the Quidditch Cup in his study for the first few years, but has since returned it to the Trophy room. I believe he said that it was an embarrassment for his House to retain the Cup with no chance to demonstrate their right to it."

Ro grimaced. _That sounds like Jigger, too. It figures that _they_ would have it; that last year must have been Baulch's final year._ Iris Baulch, a few years behind Ro at Hogwarts, had been (still was, in fact) a demon Quidditch player. She had given Ro no end of trouble, both at Hogwarts and elsewhere. She, too, played for Holyhead and she had had her eye on Ro's position for the past several years. Those who had known both women during their school years had said that the two should have been sisters, which would surely have made pureblooded Iris' lip curl in disgust, had she but known of it.

"I am very much looking forward to seeing your expertise in action, Madam Hooch, both at Quidditch and in lessons. I would appreciate it, however, if you would provide me with a regular written accounting of the progress you make. I have had a number of urgent inquiries from the Ministry of Magic, the Quidditch Federation and even the Auror Corps. They all stand to benefit from a revitalized flying program and Quidditch competition and so they all wonder how soon the results will become observable. Anything you can give me to pass on will be very useful in placating them."

Ro bent her head a little to hide a grin. She had experience in _exactly_ how the Federation could be when they wanted something and she did not envy the Headmaster his position at all. "I believe that we will be able to satisfy them, sir. In fact, by spring you should be able to invite them here for a bit of a demonstration, if you like. Perhaps the Quidditch final might be suitable?"

Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively. He had, of course, been present during the tumultuous month leading up to the final match of Ro's final year. During that spring, a near-legendary wager between the leading team's Seeker and the challenging team's star Chaser (Ro, herself) had amplified the ordinary, friendly, semi-rivalry between their two Houses into something considerably more passionate, though no less friendly. The final match had been one of the most intense and brilliantly played Quidditch games in Hogwarts history. It had also had the distinction of having generated the highest number of spectator detentions on record for a single event.

Dumbledore twinkled at her over the tops of his spectacles. "Well, Madam Hooch, I suspect that this year will prove to be instructive for us all. I am pleased to see that you are not allowing your injuries or any regret for lost opportunities to affect your sense of humor, my dear, especially since we here at Hogwarts stand so desperately in need of _all_ of your abilities."

Ro started and looked at him in alarm. _Does he know about-_ Professor Dumbledore's face was compassionate, but conveyed no message more specific, despite the light emphasis she had heard on the words "lost opportunities." _No, how could he? There wasn't enough time for them to make the announcement. No one outside of the Federation knows about-that._

"My dear girl, we all here at Hogwarts heard of your mishap this past spring and, as Headmaster, I am of course privy to your medical records. I am quite aware of how much you have endured, of how hard you have had to work in order to come here, regardless of how much you wish to be elsewhere. I am also aware of how much effort is yet required of you before you leave us. I would like for you to know that, no matter how long the road to full recovery, you have my complete support as well as my deepest admiration for your dedication and perseverance. I hope that you will not hesitate to call upon me if there is anything that I can do to assist you in your efforts. This has nothing to do with your position on my staff; it is my personal pledge to you. I am delighted that you have chosen to return to Hogwarts to complete your healing process. You will always be welcome here."

The final ordeal of the evening came as she was attempting to descend the three floors from the Headmaster's study by means of the staircase that wound around the open central shaft of the Great Tower. By now, the muscles in her injured leg were quivering uncontrollably and she was managing the descent only by leaning heavily on the railing and stopping frequently to catch her breath.

"So _there_ you are, you nasty child. Come back to the scene of your crimes, have you?" The voice was familiar, unpleasantly so. It belonged to Argus Filch, who had been an assistant caretaker during Ro's student years and was now the sole keeper of Hogwarts Castle. His face was twisted with suspicion and dislike as he glared up at her from the landing below.

By this time, Ro was ready to drop from tiredness, so diplomacy seemed to be the course of wisdom. "Good evening, Mr. Filch. It is good to see you again. I hope you are well." It wouldn't work, of course. Nothing ever did with Filch.

"Don't think you've got me fooled, missy, not for one single minute. You may have persuaded the Headmaster that it is safe to let you inside these walls again, but I know who you are and what you are like and I will be keeping my eye on you. You put one toe out of line and I'll have you in detention for a month, see if I don't!"

"Mr. Filch, I am supposed to be a teacher now. I have to assign detentions, not serve them."

"Even so. One trick from you and you will be very sorry. You just wait and see if I don't make you regret that you dared set foot inside this castle again!" He growled at her once more before shuffling off down a side corridor. Ro stood and watched him disappear into the shadows, muttering to himself.

She was grateful that she had taken her broom to dinner instead of walking. The long sloping lawn between the castle and the Quidditch stadium would have been beyond her ability to negotiate, given all the other physical activity the day had required. The short flight back re-energized her, though, as flying always did. The air was warm and calm and the light of the setting sun painted the sky with vivid shades of red and gold that were reflected by the still waters of the lake. The dark shadows that the light spread across the green lawn below her that were lengthening rapidly as she dropped down before the door of her cottage.

A light already burned inside, courtesy of whichever house-elf had attached itself to Ro's service for the moment. She made a mental note to find out who it was. Ro had come to appreciate the excellent service rendered by house-elves and had done her best to express her appreciation ever since she had learned of the little creatures' existence. She knew from experience that direct thanks for their work would be received with embarrassment and discomfort, but there were a few things that could be done tactfully, without upsetting the poor creatures. Thanking house-elves was something her wizard-born friends had found quaint and amusing, but she would never forget her origin-a child of the poor, from the poorest section of Cardiff's docklands-and so she rarely neglected to show appreciation for those who made her life so pleasant now.

Once inside, weary though she was, she found that several crates had been placed close by the empty bookcases while she had been at dinner and the lure of them was stronger than her desire for sleep. She pried open the nearest and occupied herself with unpacking the volumes and seeing that they were properly shelved. Most of the volumes in the first crate were old friends, but a few of the boxes held text that would be new to her. When she had decided to take the position at Hogwarts, she had ordered a fair number of books on methods by which flying had been taught in the past or was being taught in other countries. A few, those that had to do with rebuilding the body after injury and Healing, had been recommended to her by those who had attended her at St Mungo's. The books were not all practical ones, either. Somewhere in the collection was an entire shelf worth of unread poetry and classic fiction from the Muggle world and she hoped to renew her acquaintance with them soon. It had been a very long time since she had last had so much of her library available to her at once. It was going to be lovely to be able to lay hands on whichever book she needed, when she needed it.

Her eyes were grainy with exhaustion by the time she was satisfied with her arrangement of the first crateful of books. She selected one of the new ones, _Quidditch Essentials and How to Beat Them into Young Players Without Using a Club_, and took it with her up the ladder to her room. There it remained unread, at least for that evening, for no sooner had she settled into her bed than sleep ambushed her for the third time that day.

**Dear Reader:** Due to the current state of affairs on FFnet and the fact that the archive deletes stories without warning, I ask you not to leave a review here, or to leave your reviews in two places. In my profile is a Homepage link, which will take you to my author profile on another, safer archive. I love reviews and I don't want to lose a single one. Thanks in advance.


	3. Lift the Wings

Before we begin, a brief note about canon: I am passionate about sticking to canonical facts. Some things in _High Flight_ are non-canonical, of course, but that's due to the time frame rather than to my attitude towards JKR's work. However, I have been working on the plot for this story and for the two that will follow it for almost three years now and there are things I cannot change without negating my entire "series." So, I've made a decision. This "series" is canonical through the end of _Order of the Phoenix_ and will incorporate as much as humanly possible of books six and seven and the new revelations from JKRowling-dot-com. In the future, however, if a new fact would do things that I can't work into the existing plot , I'm going to have to let it go. I will try very hard not to let this happen too often. I hope this will not spoil anyone's enjoyment of the story. Thanks for reading. - Fiat 

Thanks to: Romana for britpicking, Tetley for readability advice, everyone who's reviewed the story, and everyone _else_ who's ever listened to me ramble for encouragement, suggestions and enthusiasm. There's too many of you to list, you _know_ who you are! Since the chapter was first written two years ago, I've lost track of who I all owe thanks, so, please, take this as a heartfelt _Thank you!_

* * *

**Lift the Wings**

_A roar from the crowd startled her. Looking wildly around, she found, to her horror, that she was the only player still on the ground; the Quaffle had been loosed while was she daydreaming. The rest of the Chasers were already battling for possession in the air above her._

_She kicked off hard, fighting to gain altitude in the turbulence left by the other players' brooms. She had to reach the rest of her team! _Team..._ She wasn't wearing her uniform! How had she managed to forget _that

_No time to worry about it._

_Judicious use of elbows got her just within arms' reach of the Quaffle when something large and heavy collided with her from behind. It only broke her concentration for a moment, the wind wasn't even knocked out of her, and yet... and yet..._

She awoke abruptly and lay motionless, heart pounding, uncertain of where she was. She drew a slow, deep breath, then another, willing herself to relax and absorb the unfamiliar surroundings. The sky outside the window was just beginning to lighten. She was not in the hospital nor in the little room she rented above a shop in Cider Alley in Holyhead; she was at Hogwarts in the Coach's quarters, _her_ quarters, in her own bed. The nightmare's details were already fading, leaving behind a vague sense of urgency.

As her heart slowed, she became aware of the silence. The interior of the cottage was utterly still. There were no sounds of activity, human or otherwise, coming from the rooms below her or from the grounds outside. In fact, only the faintest trace of birdsong reached her through the thick stone walls. Somehow, this unsettled her even more than the dream she no longer quite remembered.

The hospital had never once become completely quiet during her stay and in the morning, when the staff began their daily routines, it had more than merely verged on bedlam. She had never been so thoroughly alone at St Mungo's, either. There had always been someone; another injured Quidditch player, a Healer or Trainee, even the occasional fan that managed to talk their way past Security and into her ward, looking for autographs. Prior to the hospital, she had been with the League; training or traveling with a Quidditch League team had generally meant early-morning practices and a great deal of noise or, on occasion, early-morning hangovers and a great deal of profanity. It had undeniably meant constant company: the other Harpies, the other teams, the support staff and fans. Ro grinned to herself, especially remembering the fans.

She stretched carefully. She might be more accustomed to waking up with a bed-partner than not, but she wasn't used to spending leisurely mornings in bed. Gwyneth Morgan, the current captain of the Harpies, was mad; the same sort of passionate fanatic Quidditch player that her elder sister Gwendolyn had been in her day. Morgan was thoroughly convinced that too much sleep was detrimental to a player's "game." Unless a Harpy player was better at warding spells than her captain was at remote hexes, attempting to sleep late was... hazardous. It had been a very long time since Ro had had the luxury of deciding for herself when it would please her to meet the day.

Now that she was awake, though, Ro found she was much too restless to stay in bed. The memory of the damaged Quidditch field kept intruding on her thoughts and she found herself reckoning just how much effort it was going take to fix everything she'd seen the day before. Rather a lot, she was sure, and a great deal of her time as well. She might not have to _build_ it herself, but she had a feeling that supervising the work would not be much easier. It looked more and more as though the coming year was going to be too full for her to spend much time missing her teammates or worrying about her future.

And speaking of the future- at least the immediate future- she could already feel her body objecting to the previous day's activities. Even before she tried to sit up, she could tell she was going to pay dearly for overestimating her fitness level. _The Great Stair was definitely a bad idea, even if it _was_ Dumbledore's._ Her legs felt as though someone had laid a Full Body Bind on her and then _thrown_ her down the stairs from the Headmaster's Tower. _Oh, this is going to _hurt.

_Get on with it, then._ Bracing herself for the worst, she levered herself out of bed. The excruciating sensation of gravity hitting overused muscles made her grab for the nearest solid object. _Oh, that does hurt, it does, indeed, it does..._ She stood there clutching the bedpost and gritted her teeth until she had recovered enough to attempt to wobble towards the wardrobe.

Dressing required a fair amount of awkward balancing on her good leg and she distracted herself from the pain by rehearsing the conjugations of all the conjugal verbs in Troll. She had got through thirty by the time she felt ready to try to descend to the ground. She ruefully decided she would have to remember that she was in worse shape than she thought. She was not ready for long walks, climbing stairs, certainly not ready for any sort of aerobatics, no matter how easily she could convince herself that she was.

"If the Headmaster wants any more private chats with me before I recover, he can come down and meet me on the ground." She approached the ladder and flexed her hands, wondering how hard it was going to be to let herself down the rungs slowly.

"Either that or he is going to open a window," she muttered a moment later, hanging on with all her strength to avoid landing in a heap at the foot of the ladder. The Coach's House had certainly not been designed as a setting for convalescence.

Once she had recovered from the drop, however, not even aching muscles could have convinced her to stay indoors. She rummaged in the carton on her desk for writing materials and then hesitated for a moment in front of her broom rack. The night before, she had picked up the Arrow out of sheer force of habit but, if she was being honest, she had to admit that if she took the broom this morning, too, she would be tempted to do things that weren't healthy for her still-limited body. She shook her head and placed the painful memory of getting out of bed squarely in front of the temptation. _Just until I heal a bit more,_ she promised herself as she picked up the second broom. _I really did plan to check the repairs on the Nimbus today, anyway._ Then she went out into the early morning light, keen to have a proper look around.

Pushing off from the ground felt wonderful, no matter how awkwardly she managed it. The open air was no less intoxicating in the cool light of morning than it had been the evening before. She had been allowed a few flights, of course; brief ones, part of her rehabilitation, but there had always been at least one person keeping a close eye on her. Now, at last, she could do as she pleased. This wasn't a hospital broom, in worse shape than the worst of the Hogwarts brooms had ever been. There was no one to tell her to stay close, to fly slowly, or that it was "time to come down now, Miss Hooch, right away, please!"

It was so very tempting; she could easily ignore her new duties for a day, perhaps two, if she chose. She could go anywhere at all and there was no one to tell her to do better or even to do otherwise. The morning mist made the air comfortably cool, perfect weather for flying, even though the rising sun was already beginning to burn through. The birds were in full voice and the grass was still glittering, beaded with moisture, although sunlight would put an end to that shortly.

However, those first rays of the sun were also slanting across the face of the pitch, throwing the mounds of earth into sharp relief and the sight brought her up short. The bright, limitless morning made the ruin of the Quidditch field below seem all the more painful. She was reminded forcibly of Hogwarts' reason for having her there and that reason cooled her rebellion even faster than it had flared. There was too much, too many things that badly needed attention, things that simply _must_ be corrected as soon as possible. She could not ignore the Quidditch field, not even for a day.

She angled the Nimbus higher and circled slowly taking in all the details of her personal part of Hogwarts, which was terribly shabby at the moment. Again, she wondered how it had been possible for so much to go wrong in so short a time. Cataloguing everything that was wrong with the field was such a monumental task that she scarcely knew where to start. From this height, though, her eye was drawn to the gaping holes where the storage shed roof had fallen in. _Start there, then._ She circled the structure once to fix the damage in her mind, and then landed in front of the doors and hauled them open.

Once inside the shed, she lit her wand to begin taking stock and, after the first glance, she desperately wished she had started her inspection somewhere else. The building was a shambles. As Professor Dumbledore had warned her, everything that had been inside should be considered a complete loss, ruined beyond all hope of salvage. The floor was littered with twig fragments and several seasons' worth of damp, rotting leaves. The doors of individual storage cupboards hung askew on rusted hinges, shreds of brightly colored cloth and fragments of leather in and around them testifying that not even the House uniforms had been spared. In a shadowy corner under one of the broom racks, she found a disintegrating wooden crate. Beneath the ruined lid she found the remains of a Quaffle, covered in greenish mold, and two Bludgers so rusted that they could only twitch feebly in their equally-rusted restraining chains when the light touched them. Saddest of all, when she lifted it out of its nest of perished velvet, the Snitch lay limp and unresponsive in her hand.

She looked around the room and at the denuded handles still in their racks. Only a few of the brooms retained any of their original twigs. From the condition of the handles, at least one of whatever had broken into the building had been large; large enough to leave visible tooth marks on the handles, at least. Getting awkwardly to her feet again, she turned her wand on those nearest to her, testing for residual magic, but none of the shafts contained even the slightest trace of their original spells.

_Incantivores, then. Good thing I left the Nimbus outside, they're probably still in here._

She shivered. The things were probably lurking in every pile of debris and the thought of them anywhere near her brooms made her skin crawl. She looked around at the handles again and wondered if the broom she had used when she first came to Hogwarts was somewhere among them. Despite its age (several times older than she had been herself) and condition (questionable) it hadn't been a bad broom, not for a beginner.

She had learned an awful lot about broomstick repair from that broom, most of it the hard way, and it had carried her through plenty of hard-fought Quidditch matches over the years. Her current brooms were far superior to anything at Hogwarts, of course, but she had loved that broom and it saddened her to realize that it had undoubtedly suffered the same fate as the rest.

_When the brooms Dumbledore promised me get here, they will go nowhere _near_ this place._ To be completely safe, the building should be burned to prevent the pests from simply moving into the new one. She made a note to discuss strong Repelling Charms with Professor Flitwick, too, as an extra precaution.

_He'll probably turn it into a classroom exercise, knowing him. In fact, he'll probably use that to start off the revision he has planned for me._

She made another note to check how much of a stock of handle treatments and binder twine that the school had on hand. If the used equipment turned out to be anything like the Hogwarts brooms she had been used to, it would take a lot more of everything than she had with her to keep it all in working condition.

By the time the sun had climbed more than a few handbreadths higher, she had viewed every part of the stadium complex from the air and was uncomfortably aware of the size of the task before her. The clipboard was filled with notes, rough drawings and pages of lists; her brain, too, was full of ideas too nebulous to commit to paper. She was also very hungry and more than ready to see if she could find anything to eat in her cottage.

In between buttering slices of toast, she sorted through the papers she had just filled and began to write clear copies of each by hand. The _Effingus_ duplication charm was out of the question; she hadn't cast one in years and the last time she had tried, she'd managed to conflate the charm with the _Esuritius_ jinx. The combination had been a particularly nasty one, causing everyone in her vicinity to crave second helpings of everything on the table until someone figured out what she had done and came up with a counter-curse. Her teammates had not been pleased with her and had, in fact, threatened to confiscate her wand if she ever did something like that again. They were far away now, so they'd never know, but she cringed at the thought of having to go to Professor Flitwick and explain how she'd managed to miscast a simple copying charm. She wrote steadily, pen in one hand and toast in the other, and by the time she was finished with breakfast, she had several sets of neatly written lists and finished drawings, including a copy of everything to give to Professor Dumbledore.

She was surprised that so many of the little details of how things had looked nine years ago had come back to her so clearly. It was a relief to discover that she _did_ remember; all of her memories had been erratic since the accident, not just the ones of the accident itself, and the loss (however temporary) had upset her more than she wanted anyone to know. But the building crew, whoever _they_ turned out to be, should have little trouble recreating the old facility from her instructions. The question was whether or not they could manage it in time for the Quidditch season. The Hogwarts Quidditch season, of course. The League's season had begun many months ago.

"Who could Professor Dumbledore have hired for it," she wondered aloud. Dumbledore had specifically said that it wasn't a magical construction company, or at least, that it was one that would be willing to build things by hand, so it probably _wouldn't_ be a wizarding company. She didn't think he'd hire a Muggle company, despite his admiration for Muggle ingenuity, but she couldn't imagine who else might forgo magic in the building of something the size of a Quidditch stadium.

Whoever they were, she had a suspicion that they would be _very_ good and equal to the effort she'd anticipated. Dumbledore would have wanted the best for Hogwarts even if he _hadn't_ been in the position of proving himself to the governors. The builders would be the best available and they might just manage to finish the main buildings and training facilities before the season began in November. Optimistically, she started a second list, for improvements on the old Hogwarts design and little things that had not existed during her student days. She had encountered most of these things in the professional stadiums that belonged to the League and sometimes in the lesser facilities maintained by the amateur Quidditch Federation. _It'll be good for the students to have similar equipment, if I can get it for them. An improved stadium might even attract a few Federation games and players to the area, too-maybe even League play._

She entertained herself for a bit by imagining the Harpies coming to Hogwarts to play a match, someday. The school, not to mention the poor unsuspecting village of Hogsmeade, would never know what had happened to it.

When she stood up again, her stiffening muscles reminded her that flying, alone, would not do enough to help her build her strength. _I have to be ready by the end of the school year, or I might never get home._ The Harpies would take her back, she was sure, but unless she reached the top of her form again quickly, they would be forced to relegate her to the reserves. She went into her office to rummage further in that carton of documents on top of the desk. Eventually, she found the sheaf of instructions that the Healer-therapist had forced on her before allowing her to leave the hospital. _Must file the rest of this mess later._

She propped herself against the desk to read. From the first page it was obvious that the Healer had treated Quidditch players before; the instructions were short and unambiguous, leaving her little room to interpret them creatively. Other than a reasonable approximation of level flight she was not to attempt "aerial training of any nature" until she could walk and climb stairs without difficulty. _All right, then, so define "difficulty" for me,_ she thought with sardonic humor directed at the distant Healer. Then she sighed; she didn't have to have it explained to her. Her aching muscles had already informed her that she _was_ still having difficulty with stairs.

She put the papers down and stared at the wall for a long time without really seeing it. She had her own personal objectives for this year, in addition to those laid out for her by the Healers or required for readmission to the active list of League players. She possessed a number of skills that needed a high level of fitness, skills that were as vital to her life as to her Quidditch game, as vital as the flying and aerobatics were. The Healers had not been gentle when they had explained the situation to her: her body had taken ten years to train to the level she had attained before her accident; it would be difficult for her to recover at all, let alone in the ten months she would spend at Hogwarts.

There was only a small chance of returning directly into the starting line up anyway, unless a serious injury claimed another of the Harpy Chasers. The first reserve Chaser, Iris Baulch, was brilliant and she had been hard on Ro's broom-twigs for years, just waiting for her chance to start for the Harpies. Baulch would play for a full season- perhaps even two- before Ro would be recovered enough to attempt to reclaim her place on the starting team. She would have to rebuild her skills slowly, no faster than her body could tolerate, and be consoled by the knowledge that she _would_ rebuild them, that she would _not_ allow anything to prevent her from playing again, in time. She had begun with nothing at all and determination had taken her to greatness; she could do it again.

Ro picked up her orders again and idly flipped through the Healer's screed, curious as to how long they had thought she'd be sidelined. At the bottom of the last page, she was startled to find a brief note addressed to herself.

_"Do _not_ start at this end of the schedule. Start at the beginning and go on. Your recovery will be much less complicated if you do first things first."_

Ro had to laugh. _Someone_ must have warned the Healers about her. _I wonder, did Ceara snitch? I would not put it past Gwyneth either, come to think about it. _Especially_ not after the way she threatened to hex me when I didn't apply for leave fast enough to suit her._ Of course, it was always possible that all Quidditch players looked at the end of the list first, but she preferred to think that one of her teammates had been looking out for her. It made her feel a little less isolated.

She set the papers down again in a tidy stack. "First things first," she said aloud, pushing herself away from the desk. "Well, it's still early enough and it's a lovely day. I believe I'll go for a walk."

Keeping in mind how the walk from Hogsmeade had exhausted her the day before, Ro set herself a less ambitious route for her first day's exercise. The perimeter of the Quidditch field made for an interesting stroll, if not exactly a pleasant one in the facility's current condition. She would be able to examine the damage from ground level as she walked, in case she had missed anything from the air.

She stopped and rested when she reached the far side of the field, leaning on her cane for a long time and gazing up towards the castle. It looked completely deserted at the moment, except for occasional puffs of smoke from a few of the chimneys. The walls looked lonely, at least to her eyes. She could see the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor towers from this angle; the whole of Ravenclaw tower was clearly visible, although most of Gryffindor tower was hidden behind the castle's bulk.

She smiled, remembering how she had spent innumerable evenings and Saturdays studying Quidditch from her dormitory window with a battered old pair of binoculars. When she hadn't been watching Quidditch practice, she had been watching birds, admiring the aerobatic swoops of the swallows and peregrines that nested in the castle roofs. Of course, her fascination with Quidditch and flying had meant she'd had to endure her roommates' jibes about her supposed lack of scholarly diligence, but she'd decided that she _was_ studying, just different subjects from the others. Class-work had been a simple task for her in comparison to learning to fly and play Quidditch better than anyone else in the school.

She resumed limping along the base of the stadium seating. Flying lessons definitely had not gone as smoothly as her eleven-year-old self would have liked, no matter how determined she had been. It had been many months before she had had any sort of control over her broom, although the lack of it had certainly not kept her grounded if she'd had a chance to fly. Mister St. Mirren, the elderly wizard who had been her flying teacher, had been very patient with her clumsy efforts, long after her fellow students had given up on her. Right up until the end of her first year, she had been desperately afraid that she had earned the nickname "Prang" for life. Eventually, however, between her resolve and St. Mirren's perseverance, she had managed to learn. By the end of her second year, she even managed to secure a spot on her House's reserve team, although the achievement had come more by sheer willpower than by any actual Quidditch playing ability. That skill had come later.

It had been Ceara's family that had first introduced her to Quidditch, of course; the entire family had been Quidditch-mad. She had met the Taylors in the summer she turned eleven. In fact, Ceara's parents had come on the very day she received her Hogwarts letter and found out about the wizarding world, to help her become accustomed to her new life. A few weeks after that, the entire family had gone to a Quidditch game and she had been allowed to go with them, her first real glimpse of the world she would be entering. It had been a glorious week, the memory of which she doubted even a head injury could erase.

She had lived in a tent with the Taylors, spent the days sitting in the stands cheering for the home side and at night shared a room (A room! In a tent!) with Ceara and her baby sister, who had been not quite two years old at the time. Ceara had very patiently explained the finer points of the game and identified specific plays until, finally, her new friend had caught on and begun to recognize them for herself. She had been oblivious to everything except the action on the pitch for the rest of the week, whenever the game was in play. In between plays, however, she and Ceara, with Ceara's younger siblings in tow, had managed to get into their share of mischief.

In that one week she had learned more about the wizarding world and the odd creatures and odder people that inhabited it than she would learn during her entire first year at Hogwarts. However, everything else that she learned, then or ever, had paled in comparison to Quidditch. From the moment she had first understood what she was seeing, she had been unwavering in her resolve: she, Xiomara Hooch, was _going_ to play Quidditch.

Ro recalled, with a guilty start, that she was meant to be surveying the damaged stadium, not daydreaming, and paused to examine the risers beside her. The seating on this side of the field looked as though something large and heavy had been pushing against the far end; it was entirely off its foundations in places. When she reached the end of the rows of benches, she paused again to scrutinize the ground, looking for any clue as to what might have done the damage. If there were any traces, however, the long grass and weeds at that end of the field hid them.

She should probably ask Hagrid about it. This _was_ Hogwarts, after all, and the stadium was situated fairly close to the Forest, even if it wasn't anywhere near the Gamekeeper's hut. _Who knows what sort of pets he's been keeping since old Ogg and St. Mirren left that could be wandering around the grounds._ Hagrid's "pets" had grown progressively larger and more dangerous during her student days and he had become more enthusiastic about his creatures with each passing year. He had also been convinced that, no matter how large or intimidating the beasts were, they were "all right, really, once yeh get t' know 'em." _I cannot imagine that anything has changed him in nine years, either. Come to think of it, with Ogg gone, Hagrid's probably even more so now._

Straightening up once more, Ro was startled to find a pair of wary yellow eyes watching her. A young tomcat, thin, with white fur interrupted by large splashes of bluish-grey, was eyeing her suspiciously from a spot near one of the loose foundation stones.

"Puss, puss," she called softly, bending and holding her hand out to the cat. "Handsome boy, aren't you?"

The cat vanished into the shadows under the stadium the moment she held out her hand. Ro sighed, disappointed. She had never been able to afford a pet while she was a student and she had been moving around too much as a Harpy to suit a cat's personality. She had thought about getting an owl, once or twice, but had never actually done it. For the few letters she wrote, she had always been able to borrow an owl from one of her teammates. Now, she supposed, she would have to climb up to the owlery or walk to the Post Office in Hogsmeade if she wanted to send a letter.

She crossed the field through the scoring area under the lopsided goal posts, and headed back towards her cottage, still remembering how things had been. Her student memories were so strong and so clear that, for just a moment, she started to knock on the door of her office instead entering. Old St. Mirren had been a friend as well as a gifted instructor and it had come as a shock to learn that he had died unexpectedly, just a year or so after retiring from teaching. She wished he were still alive; she had dozens of questions about teaching that she wanted to ask him. If anyone had told her nine years ago that she would be the one to replace him, however briefly, she would have laughed.

His office- _her_ office now- looked depressingly empty compared to how cluttered the space had been under St Mirren. She wondered if she, too, should put some of the souvenirs from her time with the League on view, as he had done. Unfortunately, all of that would be packed in the same crate as her game uniforms and that had been removed to storage since she had unpacked the day before. She really didn't need much decorating, not when she would have to pack it all up again next summer. Besides, hanging an "old uniform" on the wall would feel too much like she'd left the game permanently.

She seated herself at the desk and looked out the window, towards the Quidditch pitch and wondered again how much of the damage could be reversed in such a short time. If she concentrated, she could almost see the finished facility overlaying the damaged one.

Eventually, she brought herself fully back to the present. _Too much to do,_ she reminded herself sternly. She opened the box on top of her desk and extracted the masses of crumpled paper and parchment that _had_ been neatly organized (and properly confined) documents before she'd left London. She _thought_ she had packed them carefully, but the pages had been hopelessly disorganized even before she'd hunted through it for her Healer's instructions. She was forced to spread everything out and flatten each page before sorting them into little heaps and filing them in the drawers. _Who handles luggage these days, unemployed security trolls?_

Sorting gave her a chance to read through everything again, though. She was proud of how well she had prepared herself for the post, given the short amount of time between accepting it and the start of term. Most of the notes and lesson plans she was ordering had been written after she had agreed to come to Hogwarts.

It hadn't been particularly difficult work, just a great deal of reading and thinking, but it had been a welcome relief to have something to look forward to, rather than lying there and trying to guess who would be the next Quidditch player to be carried in through the ward door. She'd pored over books as late into the nights as she had been permitted. Most of her students were going to be quite a bit older than the preferred age when they received their first formal lesson, so she would probably have to do things a bit differently than St. Mirren had. She'd read everything she could get her hands on about teaching flying, including some books from countries where some witches and wizards didn't learn to fly until they were already of age. She certainly should be ready for any challenge that her students presented her with.

After an hour of flattening papers, sorting parchment sheets into stacks, inserting stacks into folders, and folders into drawers, she became irritated with the mess and decided she had done enough paperwork for one morning. _If I sit still for much longer, I'm going to fall asleep again anyway. Too much to do to let that happen yet. And, anyway, I didn't actually _test_ those repairs yet; not as completely as I meant, anyway._ She pushed herself out of her chair and took the broom outside to examine it thoroughly out in the bright sunlight.

The broom had actually been a sort of gift rather than a purchase. Two years earlier, the founder of the newly formed Nimbus Racing Broom Company, Devlin Whitehorn, had presented one of his prototype Nimbus 1000 brooms to each of the top five players in the British and Irish Quidditch League, as a way of declaring the company's presence to the Quidditch-playing world. She had ridden the new broom in, perhaps, half of the games she had played since then, although she still favored the Arrow whenever the outcome of the game truly mattered.

Whitehorn had done an excellent job repairing the physical damage. Despite the fact that she knew that the shaft had split along a third of its length, she could find no trace of the crack now. The brush was almost entirely new and the binding was "bright and tight," holding the twigs firmly in place, but loose enough that they could still flex properly through a turn. _I'll check the spells later. Whitehorn's sound, don't have to worry about trusting _his_ work._

Heeding the Healer's pointed instructions, she limited flight testing to simple maneuvers and performed them much more slowly than she usually did. The repairs felt nice and solid, there was no hint of inappropriate flexion in the shaft and no sense that the brush was still settling into position after being re-twigged. She would have to wait a few months before she knew if it would still maneuver properly under pressure, but the crash did not seem to have affected its handling and the reaction time felt as good as it ever had before the accident. Flying at low speed actually required more control than flying at normal speed, but that was second nature to her and taking her time gave her plenty of chances to examine the worst of the holes and trenches that marred the face of the Quidditch pitch.

She had long since given up pretending to be assessing the face of the pitch and was simply practicing low-speed ascents and descents when a shout made her turn towards the castle. Hagrid had arrived, bringing with him a large crowd of short, heavy-set figures, and he was waving vigorously to catch her attention. She soared towards them, angling her flight to intersect their progress near one of the giant molehills and came to a hover beside Hagrid.

The big man beamed at her, as if about to offer her a real treat.

"Ro! Here are your workers!

He turned to the creature standing beside him. "_Etxekojaun_ Edur, this is Madam Xiomara Hooch. She's our flying teacher and in charge of the _lantegi_." He waved a hand to indicate the Quidditch field and surrounding stadium. "He'll be your building chief and your translator an' all," he told Ro, "and his _koadrila_ is one of the best."

Edur bowed to Ro before offering to shake hands with her. His grip was quite firm, but stopped well short of crushing her fingers. The skin felt hard, like dry, smooth stone and it radiated heat, as though his internal temperature was much higher than hers was. He was beaming at her as cheerfully as Hagrid had and the rest of his group- his _koadrila_, whatever that was- had expressions on their faces much like delighted (if rather toothy) human smiles. Ro was no authority on non-human facial expressions, but she felt certain that they were absolutely thrilled to be there.

Edur's first words supported her tentative conclusion. "Ah, _andere_ Xamurra! It isz an honor to be here, to build ssuch interessting thingsz for you," he said, spreading long, sinewy arms in an expansive gesture. His voice was a very raspy tenor, but his English was reasonably understandable. There was no mistaking the smile, however, which she suspected meant the same thing to his people that it did to humans.

"Edur and his clan are the best there is at building things to last." Hagrid sounded immensely pleased with himself.

Ro quickly found herself shaking hands with more of the creatures, who came crowding around their chief as soon as they realized that introductions were in order. A few of them simply bowed to her, but the rest shook hands with her as well, as their leader had. After a few names, her head was spinning with trying to distinguish between the creatures or even repeat the names. _Zaloa, Malen and Mirrin, Zeruko, Oraine, Urbasa, Amuna, Diagur, Naiara..._ She promised herself that she would make a proper job of it the next time.

They were rather an attractive group, more varied in color than a group of humans would be. Their hairless hides were all different shades, from flat basalt black to gleaming slate blue to the sparkling rose-grey of granite, like so many river-washed boulders. Some were as smooth as cobbles, while others had a texture like rough-dressed stone. They were all broader than humans of similar stature and the tips of their upstanding, pointed ears would have been rib-high on a tall human being. Their language, as they spoke it among themselves, was interesting; a staccato clatter, varying greatly in pitch, with occasional odd _clicks_ and the emphasized sibilants that had been evident in Edur's greeting to her. They were dressed in eye-watering combinations of colors: vivid pinks, shocking blues, blinding oranges and a green that had surely never been seen in nature. The overall impression she had was of a lot of cheerful cathedral gargoyles taking a tropical holiday.

_Well, perhaps not a holiday,_ she thought, because no sooner had each been introduced than they ran off again moving very quickly for creatures who appeared to be built out of stone. Small clusters of them were already holding high-speed conversations accompanied by a lot of arm waving. One of the groups was already poking around the foundations of the tottery stadium, talking animatedly, gesturing at the sagging stands and (she guessed, from their motions) arguing about pulling them down. Another set scurried around one of the big molehills and skirted the hole behind it. Still another group (all talking at once) was crowded around a clipboard-holding, Carrera marble-colored member of their company.

After the last one had taken himself (or herself, Ro wasn't sure) off, Hagrid looked satisfied and very pleased with himself. "They'll not need much encouragement, now."

Indeed, the workers appeared to need no more attention from the two humans for the moment, so Ro elected to return to her copying. Hagrid chose to walk back to her cottage with her, so she stayed on her broom rather than try to keep up with his long strides on foot. By now, though, Ro's curiosity was itching.

"Hagrid, what _are_ they, exactly?"

"Rock gnomes! They come from the Continent, an' travel around, building here and there for what wizards who'll hire nonhumans. This lot 're friends of mine. Fine people."

"But- they're gnomes? I know the grubby little creatures that nest in gardens, with big teeth and not much in the way of brains, but surely these can't be the same thing?"

"Nah, these aren't the same sort of creature at all. Strictly speaking, they're not gnomes at all and they're not related to garden gnomes. They're more like to goblins 'n dwarves, although yeh don't want to bring that up in front o' any of them. Rock gnomes are stone workers, not metal smiths or miners. Don't seem very fond of goblins, for some reason, and dwarves don't much talk to them.

"The name they have for themselves doesn't seem to be something a human can pronounce. Their language is peculiar an' aren't many that would try to learn it. It's got sounds most humans can't hear or make. Anyway, I suppose that people just started calling them 'rock gnomes' because they look like rocks and left it at that. They're willing to tolerate human faults, I suppose, because they don't get offended at the name even if they happen to know what a garden gnome is.

"They don't take offense at much, more likely to turn something into a joke than anything else but yeh _don't_ want ter get to the wrong side of them, neither. Proud people, rock gnomes, and tough. Even goblins won't fight 'em, although there's dwarf clans in their mountains that will. All rock gnomes do a lot of building with stone and metal, but this lot's good to build just about anything we need here at Hogwarts, stone, metal, even wood. If anyone can build a great stadium in time for Quidditch 'thout using too much magic, they can."

"I don't think I've ever heard anything about them," Ro said, already resolved to make up for the lack.

"Well, that's the odd thing about them. They're friendly enough and this lot's all right, but they're young, for gnomes. The older ones, they almost never come out of the mountains. The young 'uns wander for a while, then go back to the home stone and never come down again. Maybe they have their fill of humans and go back home. Maybe they can't bring themselves to leave the mountains. We just don't know that much about them once they've gone back." He frowned, then brightened. "But this lot's all right. Very friendly, very responsible. They'll do Dumbledore proud. Not many wizards think to hire nonhumans for something this important and they're always glad to prove that they _should_ be hired."

"Do you really think they can finish in time for the Quidditch season?" Ro asked, wistfully. It seemed impossible.

"If it can be done, they will do it. Very hard workers. Work as hard as house-elves. Harder, because they know how to enjoy themselves, too. You'll see."

"They certainly sound like an interesting people."

"They're interesting, yes. Good people to have as friends. Glad Professor Dumbledore arranged for them to be here, even if it's only until the stadium's rebuilt."

"That reminds me, Hagrid. I was looking at the east side seating earlier and, well, it looks like some creature has been rubbing up against it down there and pushed it off the foundation. I don't suppose _you've_ seen or heard anything?"

"Ah, can't say that I've heard anything, no," he said, looking over his shoulder at the Quidditch pitch. "Plenty of creatures about, though, could have been any one o' them." He changed the subject before she could ask him again. "So, how was the dinner last night? Did yeh meet everyone?"

Ro knew prevarication when she saw it and wondered what he had out in the forest _this_ time, but answered him anyway. "The food was good, not a feast, but good and meeting the rest was interesting. Flitwick hasn't changed at all, has he? He was trying to talk me around to agreeing to go back to school again. Jigger's still Jigger, only a little more so. Vector, she's sharp, I'd say, and Sinistra..." her voice trailed off, because Hagrid was giving her a sidelong glance, not _quite_ laughing.

"Interesting, eh?"

"Not all of them," she said a little stiffly, faintly annoyed at his teasing and changed the subject. "Professor McGonagall wasn't at all friendly. She doesn't seem to approve of me being here again."

"Don't worry about it. If Dumbledore wants yeh here, you'll stay. She's never wanted me here, neither."

"At least I'm in good company. She always was so very...proper, I recall"

"Yep. Always. Her students seem to like her, though. Trust her, I suppose. Brilliant teacher, very strict, no tolerance for foolishness, but she _is_ fair, at least. Not one to play favorites. She's to be made head of Gryffindor House, too, you know. She was gone from Hogwarts when I came as a student, but that didn't stop her from disliking me the moment she laid eyes on me and I shouldn't wonder but she went and looked... Well, but I don't know why she wouldn't like _you_, though, unless..." he paused, brow furrowed in thought.

"Unless? I'd say she remembers plenty about me that she doesn't like. Those last three years at Hogwarts were not exactly quiet ones."

"Well, there's that, yes, but- yeh aren't exactly a nobody, are yeh? Yeh're somebody. Almost everyone has at least heard yer name before and when the students find out that you're _here_... Well, they'll be excited, won't they? Won't be concentrating on their classes like they should. She won't like that at all and she doesn't care much for Quidditch, besides. Plenty of reason for her to wish you gone."

Ro stared at him, perplexed. "You mean, all of that might have been just on account of Quidditch and people knowing who I am, and not anything she actually knows about me?"

"Could be. Maybe she heard something about yeh from out there that she doesn't like. Sounds like summat about yeh set her off. More 'n usual, I mean."

There was nothing Ro could say to that, so she merely shook her head at the absurdity of it all. She might be "somebody," as Hagrid said, and the professor might dislike that, but if she'd asked, Ro could have told her that most of the time it was more trouble than it was worth. _Conspicuity attracts Bludgers._

At the door of Ro's cottage, Hagrid paused and squinted up at the sun, then grunted. "Early yet. Good thing. Lots of work for me, with Ogg gone 'n all. Keeps me busy, this place does, even when there's no students here to keep out of the Forest." Something about Hagrid's tone made her look up sharply. He was staring off at the distant Forest now, his eyes a bit brighter than usual. Ogg had been the Gamekeeper at Hogwarts during Ro's student days and Hagrid had been his protégé.

"I had heard that Ogg left us around the same time that St. Mirren did. It won't seem like the same place without them here," Ro said, as gently as she could.

Hagrid sighed gustily. "I miss 'im," he said, simply. "He was good to me after I was expelled, him and Nanny, both. Was only thirteen then, yeh see, and big as I was, weren't no way I could take care of myself out there." He waved a hand, indicating the world outside the Hogwarts grounds. "No place I could go, neither, with my old dad gone. No one else would have taken me on, not after- well, not after. They gave me somewhere to call home and a sort of a family to belong to. They taught me near everythin' I know about the Forest and the critters. Taught me how to care for 'em proper, like. Sort of like how old St. Mirren took _you_ on and trained yeh. He was another good'un."

Ro shook her head. "He taught me an awful lot in such a short time, but I was hardly anything like an apprentice. I'll miss him, as well." Realizing that Hagrid was looking as melancholy as she was feeling, she cast about, hoping to find a less emotional subject for them to discuss. "Can't say I'll miss Pringle, though. Bit of a relief to know that _he's_ not lurking down some dark corridor or around a blind corner somewhere."

"That old..." Hagrid broke off, searching for the right words to describe Apollyon Pringle properly and failing to find them. "He tried to get Dippet to say I wasn't to come inside the castle, if you can believe it? And Dippet was going to do it, too, until Professor Dumbledore stopped him. Still, I stayed out as much as I could. Weren't much I needed to go in after, anyway, and nobody I needed to talk to, neither. Didn't take kindly to being followed wherever I went and that's just what Pringle set that Filch to doing."

"Filch wasn't happy to see me, either, last night. I ran into him on the Great Stair on my way out. I don't think he'll ever let me off after that last time, even if it was years ago. He said something about keeping an eye on me, too."

Hagrid snorted. "Filch! He's no better than Pringle was, maybe worse. Pringle wasn't the type that forgave and forgot, he wasn't. Filch was always nasty, but Pringle taught him a whole 'nother world of nasty. Still, he's not worth worrying about. Yeh're here because Dumbledore wants yeh here and here yeh stay, Filch or no Filch. Mind, I don't go near him myself if I can help it and I wouldn't go trying that last trick again, ever. Yeh did it the once, back then, and no one else has or likely ever will, so leave it there."

With that last bit of advice and a cheery wave, Hagrid strode off across the grounds to attend to the rest of his duties, leaving Ro with a good deal to think about.

Before she had even stepped across the threshold, her nose informed her that her lunch was already waiting, brought down so recently from the castle kitchen that it was still hot. There was much to be said for house-elf service, even if the little creatures would prefer no one ever said any of it.

She was hungry after her morning's exertions and fell on the food like a famished Niffler. It was barely noon when she finished eating and there was plenty of time before she needed to go out to rejoin Hagrid's gnomes and deliver the plans for the new stadium. She contemplated trying to retrieve _Quidditch Essentials_ from her bedside table, but decided that she didn't dare. Aside from the issue of navigating the ladder, she would _certainly_ fall asleep if she went anywhere near her bed. Instead, she poked through the books she had not managed to get shelved the night before and selected _Awkward to Amazing: Schooling the Neophyte Flyer_. With a book and a cup of tea, she settled into one of the big armchairs for a little reading.

She wasn't even aware of it when her eyes slid shut.

It was very late, indeed, when the book slid out of her lap and landed on the floor with a _bang_, startling her out of deep sleep. She'd been having curious dreams again, but all she remembered this time was that she had been on a Quidditch pitch on a windy, moonlit night. Which pitch and which night, she couldn't have said, and the rest of the dream was already gone.

She was still rubbing her eyes and getting her bearings in the dim, early evening light, when a distant rumble reminded her of what "very late" meant today, of all days.

_The Sorting Feast!_

The sun was setting and, from the sound of it, the coaches were already well on their way along the long road from the station in Hogsmeade to the front doors of Hogwarts. She swore, fervently. She wouldn't have made it to her seat in the Great Hall before the students got there, even if she'd been ready to leave at once.

The inside of the cottage looked as if one of the house-elves had been in while she was asleep, for the plates that had held her lunch were gone. She lit a lamp and ducked her head under cold water to wash away the last vestiges of sleep before hauling herself up the ladder.

She found the set of formal robes laid out on her bed, where she could easily support herself on the bedpost while dressing. The robes were shorter than ordinary formal robes; they would not hinder her riding a broom to the front doors. She thought they looked elegant; the Hogwarts coat of arms sparkled with real gold and silver thread and, while the robes were obviously patterned after the League's black and white standard referee uniforms, they were made out of heavy silk broadcloth rather than something practical. The cloth alone was probably worth more than all the rest of the clothing she owned put together.

The silks looked and felt wonderful and Ro grinned in anticipation of how good she would look in them, but, when she finally took a look at herself in the mirror, she could only stare at her reflection in horror.

"_Jiw_, I can't show up in public looking like _this!_"

She looked sober, serious, even "adult" in the black and white uniform; enough like one of the nuns that had run her primary school to make her profoundly uneasy. Professor McGonagall might even approve of her appearance and that didn't bear thinking about.

She tucked the black leather gloves into her belt and then hesitated a moment, but it had, after all, been the house-elf that had laid out all of her personal accoutrements in addition to the formal ones. She shrugged and pulled on her boots, slipping one of the sheathed knives into each as she put them on. The third strapped onto her left forearm, where the vambrace would cover it. She then examined the set of arm and leg padding. Although she could tell from a cursory glance that they wouldn't offer any real protection, she laced them on because they were so obviously meant to be a part of the "uniform." The brass whistle's chain went over her head and she was ready.

She checked the mirror again and was relieved to see that she looked a bit less pious and a bit more dashing than she had the first time. The scars would help, she realized; they would keep her from looking so dreadfully respectable until they faded away completely.

No amount of padding would change the way the robes fit her, though. They were ridiculously oversized through the shoulder, which meant that the measurements Hogwarts had used to produce them must have been the ones taken just before the accident. She had lost more muscle than she had realized, the last half year. Between the oversized clothing and her hair, dark with water and slicked back, she looked like a much younger version of herself. The clothes were still sober, of course, but the overall impression was more of someone who had "borrowed" a nun's habit (probably in order to sneak into the convent), than of someone who actually belonged in one. Still, there were going to be a great many things about being a teacher that would take getting used to and she had a sinking feeling that "respectability" would probably be the least of them.

"Not that I have to get _very_ used to them, thank Morganna."

She lowered herself down the ladder with care and caught up her broom. Once outside, she could see the coaches, empty now, retreating back down the long driveway. Every window in the castle was shining, reflecting the last of the setting sun; the light made the very stones of the castle glow golden against the darkening sky. Thankful again that she had a faster way to the castle than walking, she pushed off and made her best speed in the direction of the front doors.

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	4. Feast

The entranceway was deserted by the time she reached the castle and she could hear young voices shouting and cheering on the other side of the heavy doors. She leaned against one of them, to get her breath back before she hauled it open and faced the crowd on the other side. The idea of having hundreds of eyes on her as she limped towards the high table made her vaguely queasy. It wouldn't do to be seen to struggle, but she couldn't see any help for it. She was just steeling herself to run (or at least stagger through) the gauntlet when someone spoke from just behind her left shoulder. 

"You are quite late, Miss Hooch."

For one heart-stopping instant, Ro was sure that Professor McGonagall had caught her. But no, the voice was too familiar and too pleasant. She took several slow, deep breaths to settle her nerves before turning and inclining her head in polite greeting to the speaker.

"Your Grace."

The tall ghost smiled down at her indulgently, ethereal eyes sparkling with mischief. "It is wonderful to see you again as well, my dear, but I am afraid that the Sorting is already begun; you will never reach your seat unremarked."

Ro chewed on her lip, thinking hard, and listened to another muffled cheer from the other side of the thick door.

"I know. And I don't really fancy dragging myself the entire length of the hall while everyone watches, either" she finally admitted. "I have to be in there, though and I think riding," she hefted her broom, "would probably make matters worse." _Oh, but I can just _imagine_ what McGonagall's face would look like if I did! It might almost be worth it._ "I don't suppose that there is a better way to get there?" _Almost._

"As a matter of fact, there is and I thought I might show you," the ghost said, showing pearly teeth. "This will not be the last time you find it convenient, I dare say. Follow me, if you please." She floated off and Ro followed, grateful both for the guidance and the nap she'd taken. The walk from the entry hall to wherever the ghost was taking her felt incredibly long, all the same.

Eventually, just as she was at the point of begging for a rest, the ghost stopped in front of a small, plain door, beyond which Ro could again hear muffled cheering. At least the Sorting was still going on, that would make it easier to reach her seat. At that point, she realized that even though the distance was shorter, every eye would still be upon her as she crossed behind the head table on her way to her seat. She hesitated, still unwilling to be caught scurrying in late.

The ghost regarded her with a mischievous expression. "I don't suppose that you still remember how to..." she trailed off, arching an eloquent, transparent, eyebrow and gesturing with a finger, as if flicking a wand.

Ro had to puzzle over the cryptic remark for only a moment before she understood. "Oh, of course! Brilliant! Thank you, your Grace." She fished out her wand and frowned for a moment, trying to recall how the spell went, then gestured carefully and said _"Inadvertus!"_

She was gratified to see that the ghost's eyes lost focus almost immediately and drifted off to one side as she faded from her perception. This little bit of her history had come back to her accurately, as well, then. _Maybe I won't need _that_ much revision to satisfy Flitwick, after all._ Under the influence of the Misdirection Charm, she would be not so much invisible as beneath notice. The spell would encourage everyone who glanced unintentionally in her direction to look elsewhere. So long as she did nothing to call attention to herself, so long as no one was looking for her specifically, at the wrong moment, she should be able to get into her seat before anyone detected her.

She drew a steadying breath, then carefully inched the door open, (for the spell had been laid on herself, not the door, and if anyone noticed it moving...) and slipped into the brightly lit ball. Closing the door gently behind her, she shuffled across the dais as quickly as possible and slid a bit awkwardly into the only empty seat, near the far end between little Professor Flitwick and capable-looking Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts Infirmarian. Once in place, she laid her broom next to her on the floor and ended the spell with a barely audible "_Inspicius!_"

Had anyone been watching that end of the table at precisely that moment, they might have noticed her fading back into view, but it looked like everyone had been concentrating too hard on the Sorting to pay attention to the empty seat. She was pleased that she had actually managed to get away with it this time and had to stifle a laugh. _Wouldn't do to draw attention to yourself _now_, would it?_

She turned her attention to the scene before her. The Great Hall was glowing, overflowing with color and light. She knew that the four huge house banners were hanging on the wall behind her, two on each side of the one with the Hogwarts coat-of-arms, and she could see smaller versions of them hanging at intervals along the four house tables. The mass of black-clad students that lined the tables only served to direct attention to the gleaming golden plates and goblets that stood upon them, empty for the moment. Overhead, the enchanted ceiling was a luminous sapphire blue, the same shade as the sky outside, right down to the same brilliant evening stars.

The staff table was smaller than she had ever seen it and the chairs more widely spaced. Ro glanced along the row of faces intent on the scene before them and realized how few of them there were, compared to nine years ago. The senior teachers she had studied under were, for the most part, gone and former under-teachers were now seated in their places. She couldn't imagine how they would manage all of their classes, not when it had taken several teachers for each discipline in years past. _All but Flying, of course. St Mirren never needed anyone's help._

The rest of the hall was fuller than she remembered it ever being, though, and even the farthest places on the benches were filled. In her day, the very farthest places had usually been empty, or had contained students eager to bolt from the hall as soon as the meal was completed. She could not count how many there were, but it would appear that Hogwarts was full to the very tops of the turrets this year. Full-and it would be _her_ duty to test and evaluate each one of them and teach many of them as well. The monumental task of rebuilding the entire Quidditch stadium in ten weeks suddenly seemed much less impossible, if only when compared to her teaching duties.

In the center of the dais, the stiff, upright figure of Professor McGonagall stood, back to the rest of the teachers as she placed the Sorting Hat on the head of one of the first years. _Looks as though Hagrid was right, then. Whether it's officially yet or not, she's acting as Professor Dumbledore's deputy._

Ro couldn't see the face of the first year, but the way the child clutched the edges of the stool reminded her of when it had been she who sat there, in an agony of nerves as the Hat dropped over her eyes...

_When her name was called, she froze, horrified at the thought of having to sit in front of so many strangers with that hat on her head. If it hadn't been for the other new students crowded around her, she might have bolted back the way she had come._

_Ceara gave her back a bit of a push, in an encouraging sort of way. "Go on, silly! It won't bite you, go find out what house you'll be in!"_

_Mara gathered up all her courage and stepped up onto the dais, feeling very small next to tall Professor Dumbledore, and very shabby in her too-big second hand robes._

_The last thing she saw before the Hat blocked her vision was the smile on Ceara's face and her hands held up with all the fingers crossed for luck. Then it was very dark and the noise that had only a moment before been pouring into her ears vanished. She tried not to panic._

_"Well now, well now, and what is this?" A voice spoke very quietly into the silence from somewhere very close to her ear. "My word, you are a regular library of fairy-tales, did you know that?"_

_The _Hat_ was talking to her!_

_"You like those, do you?"_

_Stories? "Oh I do!" Mara tried to think loudly. "Stories-all books, really-they're wonderful." Then, an idea struck her. This was a school, after all. Maybe... "Are...are there an awful lot of books here?" Surely there would be! Maybe _loads_ of books, ones she'd never read before._

_The Hat laughed at her, but even she could tell it was meant kindly, and then said, "More books than you can possibly read in the next seven years or even the next seven lifetimes, no matter how much time you devote to them. There is no doubt where _you_ belong, Xiomara Hooch. There is only one place for someone like you and that's-"_

_"Oh, please!" Mara interrupted, a little desperately. "Please, sir, I want to be with Ceara!"_

_The Hat paused for a moment, as though startled, and then asked, "Now, since I have yet to Sort someone named 'Ceara' this year, how could I possibly put the two of you together, young Hooch?"_

_Mara thought hard, what was it that her friend had said about houses? Oh, yes..._

_"Gryffindor. She said all her mother's family were in Gryffindor, that they were very brave, and she was sure that she would be a Gryffindor. I can be brave enough to be in Gryffindor, too, can't I?"_

_"Gryffindor, you say? How interesting! A most unusual request. Perhaps...no no, you wouldn't do well in Gryffindor. You have more than sufficient courage for it, oh yes, even underneath the shyness, but you would not be happy there at all. You will have all the heart you need in time to come, Xiomara Hooch, but what you truly need now is a good challenge and you would not get one in Gryffindor. You long for people like yourself, I can see it in your mind, so you must trust me. You will have friends wherever you go, I promise you and I am never wrong! To allow you to soar as high as you're able, to let you stretch those mental wings of yours as far as you possibly can, it really _must_ be-"_

"RAVENCLAW!"

The Sorting Hat's shout jolted Ro back to the present. The newly sorted student put the hat down on the stool and ran off to join the Ravenclaws, all of whom were applauding thunderously and welcoming their new housemate, just as they had done for _her_, years ago.

Before calling the next name, Professor McGonagall looked around, along the length of the high table. Her dark eyes sought out the spot where Ro was sitting and she frowned. Apparently, _she_ knew that Ro had not been in her place at the start of the Sorting and she seemed both startled and annoyed to find her seated there now. Ro ignored her and pretended to be looking for familiar faces among the students closest to her. The hall quieted again and another name was called.

After a moment or two, she realized she _did_ know the girl- young woman, really- seated at the near end of the long Gryffindor table. Seventeen year old Ria Taylor's fiery hair was unmistakable against the sea of black Hogwarts robes and she looked enough like her elder sister had at the same age to give Ro pause. She wasn't paying any attention at all to the Sorting; she was looking directly at Ro. She flashed a grin and waved when she saw Ro looking at her. Ro grinned back and winked before turning to speak to Madam Pomfrey, who had just then realized that the seat next to her was occupied.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Ria catching the attention of the dark-haired boy seated across the table by poking at his ankle with the toe of her boot. She said something quickly and then tilted her head in the direction of the high table. The boy looked directly at Ro, his eyes wide, and then turned to say something to the student seated next to him. Ria was already whispering to _her_ neighbor. Both of these also turned to gape at her. Amused, Ro exchanged absent courtesies with Madam Pomfrey in between the Sorting Hat's pronouncements and watched the whisper chain work its way down to the far end, where the newest students seated themselves. She wondered what the poor confused first years would think of her after hearing whatever Ria had said filtered through so many sets of ears and tongues.

Ceara, when her turn had come, had been sorted into Gryffindor, much to Ro's younger self's disappointment. Ro had often wondered what the hat had meant by saying she would not have been happy in Gryffindor. "You will have friends wherever you go," it had said, so wouldn't she have had friends there, too? _The hat isn't infallible, either. I wonder what it would say if it could see me now? Or can it?_

"Madam Hooch?" The Infirmarian's impatient tone dragged Ro's thoughts back to the present once more. It was obvious that she'd been asked a question, but had no idea what it was.

"Ah, I'm afraid I didn't quite hear..."

Madam Pomfrey nodded, satisfied. "Well, it would appear that you _are_ experiencing strong memory disturbances, then, so there is _that_ answered. Your Healer warned you about them, I suppose?"

"Oh, those. The Healer did warn me to expect them and I have. Had them, I mean. It's mostly in the evenings, though, and..." she flicked her fingers out towards the rest of the hall, indicating the setting.

"Quite reasonable." Madam Pomfrey nodded, recapturing Ro's attention and settling down for what looked to become a lecture. "When you are overtired or over-stimulated, old memories will be evoked more strongly, will you or nil you." She fixed Hooch with a gimlet glare and added, "I do hope you are planning to be sensible about limiting your activities. Overtiring yourself will slow your recovery, not speed it. Your mind was stirred like a cauldron in that accident and the memories will not settle again unless you allow yourself the peace and quiet that they need in order to come to rest again."

Ro nodded agreement and forbore to point out that her position and the tasks expected of her were not precisely conducive to "peace and quiet." By now, the last of the new students had joined their tables and the Sorting Hat was being carried out of the hall. The Gryffindors were still watching her and poking each other. She wondered what they were planning.

"Have you had headaches? Vision spots?" The matron continued, oblivious to Ro's distraction, "Recurring nightmares? Trouble with short-term memory?"

"No, no spots or nightmares. I don't remember the accident, after all, so I suppose I can't really dream about it. Headaches, sometimes, if I read for too long. Remembering things-sometimes I remember things and then forget them again later." That last had been bothering her considerably. Knowing that you had remembered something recently and being unable to recall it when you needed it could be awkward. How embarrassing to be reminded of things you had forgotten for the second and third time. Granted, there were some memories that _should_ remain decently buried; there were things that she would just as soon not remember, at least not in quite the same way that she was recalling the other parts of her past. But still. Not being able to recall the name of the current captain of the Montrose Magpies had been _embarrassing._

Pomfrey seemed to be content with this much of an admission of weakness, for she continued without further questions. "It appears that your Healer has informed you adequately, at least. As you regain your strength, you will find yourself less troubled by memory lapses and sudden intrusions of old memories. I assume that you have been provided with a stock of potions sufficient to your needs? Yes, well, should you run short of anything, you should come to me directly. Do not overuse the sleeping potions, however. The records that I received indicated that you were supplied with several that would offer dreamless sleep, in case you suffered from those recurring nightmares. Your mind will _require_ ordinary dreaming to help those memories settle again, so you must use those particular ones only when strictly necessary..." 

Madam Pomfrey was well into her topic by now and Ro fought boredom and put on a polite, "listening face." She certainly _did_ know how to take care of herself properly, no matter what the Infirmarian might think of her. She was hardly fifteen anymore and she had much more sense than to overuse _any_ of the potions she'd been given, assuming that she used any of them at all. Sleeping draughts always left her feeling as though she had not slept at all and as for pain medications, well, if she took _those_ she would probably manage to injure herself all over again, with how her luck had been running. _Potions. I _hate_ potions._

She was rescued from the medical monologue by a sudden drop in the noise level in the Hall. Professor Dumbledore had stood up and the students were hushing one another, in order to hear what he had to say.

"Welcome, all of you, to another year at Hogwarts. I am sure that by now you have all noticed that Headmaster Dippet is not with us this year. He is enjoying a very quiet retirement and I'm sure he misses all of you very much." Titters ran up and down the tables and slightly louder sniggers broke out in one or two places. Ro wondered, not for the first time, what could possibly have gone on that the school governors had moved to replace Headmaster Dippet after the last term. They'd certainly ignored a large number of instances of poor judgment, not to mention the utter disrepair of the Quidditch pitch. To judge from the student's reactions to Dumbledore's comment, it had been something quite public and probably quite embarrassing. Professor Dumbledore continued speaking serenely, as though he had not noticed the laughter.

"The board of governors have chosen to honor me with his former title and it is as such that I welcome all of you. As your new Headmaster, let me say first that I am very glad and very grateful to be here with you all tonight and that I have high hopes for good things for all of us in this coming term." This garnered a round of enthusiastic applause. Professor Dumbledore's popularity with the students had certainly not suffered during the past nine years.

"Sadly, this change will mean that I may no longer continue as head of Gryffindor house." There was a chorus of disappointed sounds from the Gryffindor table, quickly shushed by neighbors. "Professor Minerva McGonagall will be your new Head of house and I trust you will obey her as well as ever you obeyed me." Dumbledore inclined his head in the direction of the Gryffindor table and, again, there was polite applause verging on the enthusiastic. Ro realized that while Pomfrey had been lecturing at her, McGonagall had returned to the hall and was seated at Dumbledore's right hand, as befitted the deputy Headmistress, and she was at that moment acknowledging both the appointment and the applause of the Gryffindors. _They like her? I wonder why?_

Ro listened absently as the Headmaster went on to refresh everyone's memory on the rules of Hogwarts. He also listed the most-recently banned items, which made her sigh with regret, for the length of the list suggested that Filch was even less tolerant of shenanigans than Pringle had been, if that was possible. Dumbledore finished by reminding the students that the Forest was off limits at all times and that designated weekends were the only time that the students would be allowed to visit Hogsmeade.

Finally, Dumbledore introduced "Professor Azmidiske Sinistra, Astronomy teacher," whose name was greeted with appreciative murmurs and a fair number of outright stares, and "Professor Honoria Vector, Arithmancy," who received a polite patter of applause that was, unsurprisingly, loudest from the Ravenclaw table.

Then Ro noticed that students all over the Hall were turning to look at her, the only unfamiliar face left at the table. Looking out over the sea of faces, she was surprised to see puzzlement rather than recognition. She shook her head, mentally; she had lost so much weight that she no longer looked very much like a Chaser. Between that and the still-healing damage on her face it wasn't surprising that none of them recognized her. She herself would be the first to admit that at the moment she did not look much like the self that had appeared in the Quidditch pages in recent years. _Not to mention that this nun costume is not the sort of thing they usually photographed me in, either._ Except for the ones that Ria had warned, very few of the students would know who she was before the Headmaster introduced her. She sat a bit straighter in her chair.

"I am sure that some of you will recognize the last of our new staff members. It gives me great pleasure to introduce our flying instructor for this term, Madam Xiomara Hooch, late of the Quidditch League and the Holyhead Harpies." There he had to pause, for nothing he said would have been heard over the Gryffindors, who had leapt to their feet as one, whooping and pounding on their table. And not just the Gryffindors, either; once the rest of the Hall had recovered from their stunned amazement, they joined in the happy chaos. Ro could see Ria laughing up at her and shouting as loudly as anyone else. She looked quite pleased with herself, probably because her house had been first to acknowledge Hooch's presence. Eleven-year-old Mara would have been horrified by all of it, but Ro was an old hand at dealing with her public by now. She laughed back at Ria and gave the crowd a salute when they finally began to quiet down again.

"As I am sure you are also aware, our Quidditch field is in a dreadful state of disrepair at present. Therefore, neither flying lessons nor practices may begin until that work has been set in motion. Madam Hooch will also be announcing the timetable for Quidditch trials when the time is right. I beg you all to be patient until that time."  
The joyous roar that greeted the words "Quidditch trials" was the only thing that could possibly have drowned out the cheer that rose up in response to "flying lessons." The shouting and pounding on tables continued unabated until the Headmaster, abandoning the remainder of his speech, clapped his hands to call up the feast. The golden plates filled with food and the clamor in the hall subsided as mouths were filled.

Glancing along the table at Dumbledore, who was chuckling gaily as he seated himself, Ro caught sight of McGonagall's sour expression. _She couldn't have thought that Dumbledore would slip me in without anyone noticing, could she?_ The older woman stared at her with narrowed eyes, only turning away when Master Jigger began to pour wine for her. Ro suppressed another grin. This was going to be fun.

Ro ate steadily through all the courses, not participating in the conversations going on around her. Whenever she happened to look up, she generally found that a number of people were watching her. The first few times she met someone's eye, she would wink at whichever student she'd caught, but after a dozen or so different stares, she began to feel uneasy. Were they looking at "Ro Hooch, Holyhead Harpy and Chaser of the Year 1967, 1968" or were they looking at the damage to her face and wondering what else was wrong, guessing whether or not she still had it in her? There was something avid in those stares, something that made her feel uncomfortable and exposed there on the dais with the other teachers.

Regardless of the reasons behind the stares, Ro knew better than to let anyone know for certain whether she had the strength for this or not. It was a good thing that she had not had to drag herself the entire length of the hall; it would be that much easier to hide her real condition if the students didn't see her walk just yet. If there was one thing she _had_ learned from her reading, it was that teaching was not very different from playing Quidditch. You showed no weakness in front of the enemy, whether they were an opposing Quidditch team or a class of barely contained adolescents, for they _would_ take advantage of it if they could and it would be twice as much work to get back the control again, once she'd lost it. Maybe the charade would turn out to be unnecessary, but at this point, she should take no chances.

Ria wasn't one of the ones watching her. The girl was leaning across the table, deep in animated conversation with the boy she had kicked at the beginning of the feast. The taller, sandy-haired boy, who looked like Chaser material, was listening to whatever she was saying and nodding frequently. His seatmate (dark, with the stocky body of a Keeper) wasn't saying anything, but his eyes flicked back and forth between the other two before looking around, very casually, as if to see who might be listening. His eyes met Ro's briefly and he raised an eyebrow, then shrugged as if to say "What can you do?" The other two Gryffindors turned, curious to see what had caught his attention. Ria grinned and waved before turning back to her conversation.

The sweet course appeared and most of the students that had been watching her went back to their feasting. There had been a time, before Quidditch, when attention had bothered her like this, and she wondered if spending so much time in the hospital had made her more sensitive again. Certainly her eleven year old self had hated having people stare at or even notice her, but that had been a very long time ago and she's thought she'd learned better.

_When Mara finally plucked up the courage to chance a look at the other students, she found that she was seated between an older girl with a kind face, who wore a shiny badge on her robes, and another first year. The older girl was dividing her attention between trying to answer the eager questions of the first years surrounding her and watching the center of the high table._

_Mara sat and politely listened to the old man who stood up to speak after Professor Dumbledore had taken the Sorting Hat away. She did not understand much of what he had said beyond "Welcome to Hogwarts!" and from the looks of the first years around her, she was not the only one who was confused. Maybe it didn't matter. Then the wispy old man clapped his hands together and before her astonished eyes, the empty platters, pitchers, and bowls on the tables filled with an astonishing display of food and drink._

_It was as if the descriptions of all the feasts she had ever read about had been rolled into one, only it was better because it was real to her eyes and nose. "...turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam..." she could hear the words of the story in her head as she gazed with wonder upon the sight before her. It was just like that scene in Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, the one where Ebenezer Scrooge found the Spirit of Christmas Present seated on a throne in his parlor. For the first time in her life, she understood his reaction to the spirit and wondered how she could have ever have thought that she had, before this very moment. She had thought before that the food had been amazing the first time she'd had dinner with the Taylors, but this!_

_Her mouth watered and her eyes got bigger and rounder as she looked and looked. Up and down the table, her fellow first years were already helping themselves to the food, urged on by the nearest older students. Amazingly, it seemed as though they were allowed to eat whatever they wished. She hardly knew where to begin; it was almost too much for her to take in all at once. Her poor brain was quite overwhelmed._

_"Come, now, Hooch, no need to be shy!" The kind-faced girl's voice broke through her daze. "There's plenty of everything here, help yourself to whatever you fancy. We never run out of anyone's favorites at a Feast!"_

_Mara stared at her in amazement. Help herself? She hardly __had_ anything that she could call a "favorite" food and even if she had, she did not see much on the table that was familiar to her. Mara had certainly never seen anything like the real roast of beef before, or the whole turkeys, although she had certainly read of them in stories and plays.

_Before she'd had dinner with the Taylors, she had never been offered as much as she cared to eat, nor had there been second helpings, either. She rather diffidently started to fill her plate, but kept getting distracted as she tried to puzzle out what each dish might be and where she might have read about it. Finally, the first year girl seated on the other side of her (who had already carved amazing inroads into her own plate) made a slightly exasperated noise and said "Here, try some of this, it's marvelous!" and promptly filled Mara's plate with a little bit from every dish within reach. "You want feeding, Hooch, you're much too thin. Someone really should take you in hand. Now, eat up!" That last was delivered in such a prim, almost officious, tone that Mara had to stifle a giggle. The eyes of the little girl sparkled with mischief; no doubt, she had been imitating someone that she knew._

_The older students had been right. There was more than enough food for everyone and the dishes never quite emptied completely. When everyone finally set down their forks, the food that was left simply vanished away, leaving the plates sparkling clean. A moment more and the sweets arrived. It seemed that there were even enough sweets for all of them to have as much as they wanted of those, too. Mara had never eaten so much in her entire life, and she was starting to feel a little sleepy._

_Her right-side seatmate had been whispering explanations of some of the food to Mara throughout the meal, which had been very helpful. She had introduced herself as Elisabeth Dobbs. She was from Devon and her parents sounded as though they were wizards._

_Mara felt a bit dizzy with everything she had seen and learned already that night. Hogwarts was quite different from how she had imagined it would be. Somehow, when she had tried to imagine what it would be like, she had not considered that there would be so many strangers, and so many of them from wizarding families. She still felt rather lost and adrift, but the kind-faced girl in the seat next to her told her not to worry so much. "You're one of us, now; you'll feel right at home in next to no time" and patted her on the shoulder. She hoped the girl was right._

_Elisabeth Dobbs talked faster than any girl Mara had ever known. "I'm so pleased to have been put into Ravenclaw, most of my family have been, you see. I should never have heard the end of it if I hadn't! Although, I suppose it wouldn't be so bad to be in Hufflepuff, they are very hard workers, you know. But Ravenclaw really is the best house to be in, though, don't you think? I mean, who wouldn't want to be wise and clever, really? I can't imagine why anyone would come here wanting to be anything else unless they didn't know better."_

_"Oh," Mara ventured timidly, "Before I came here I didn't know about houses or anything. My family are Muggles, you see, and I never even knew there was a Hogwarts. They told me a little about houses, but it was a bit confusing." Mara decided that she would not mention that she had asked the Hat to put her in Gryffindor. She was beginning to think that, just perhaps, it might be more interesting to be a Ravenclaw after all. She didn't like being disloyal to her best friend, though, so she decided that no matter what anyone told her, she didn't think that being put in Gryffindor would have been so bad either._

_Her seatmate did not seem to mind that Mara was being very quiet. She was enormously self-confident, slightly bossy and a great deal of fun to listen to, as she seemed to know something about just about every topic imaginable. Mara found her fascinating. Soon, however, the talk turned to Quidditch and Quidditch teams. She found that she could actually follow the spirited analysis and defense of the various teams flew back and forth across the table as fast as Quaffles. At last, something that she knew something about!_

_Then the kind-faced girl next to her turned and asked, "Anyone explained Quidditch to you at all, yet, Hooch?"_

_Mara nodded eagerly and the girl smiled at her obvious enthusiasm._

_"Like the sound of that, do you? Want to play yourself?"_

_Mara nodded again, even more vigorously, and several older students who were following the conversation chuckled. "They tried to explain it to me first, but then there was a game and I got to go with them and see it-"_

_"Oh? Which game? Was it a good one? Which team did you root for?" The questions flew from all sides._

_"The Holyhead Harpies, of course!" said Mara, stoutly._

_A blonde girl seated across the table groaned enviously. "You were there? At that game? Oh, you are so lucky! My second cousin's on the team and I didn't even get to go! Tell me, was it as exciting as they said it was?"_

_Mara suddenly found everyone within earshot hanging on her every word as she tried to describe the events of the already legendary match. Ceara listened over her shoulder from the Gryffindor table and occasionally leaned back to offer a word or two, but the Gryffindors were also discussing the game and had more of her attention. Therefore, it was mostly Mara who told the avid Ravenclaws about the incredible weeklong game. After she'd described most of the good bits for her new housemates in sufficient detail-including the fights, the arrival of the dragon, the capture of the Snitch, and the concussing of the German captain-they dissolved back into idle chatter and catching up with news of the summer. Mara felt quite pleased to have the attention off her own self, but was reminded of the words of the Sorting Hat, "Just trust me. You will find friends wherever you go." She felt comforted. The Ravenclaws seemed to be friendly, so maybe it really was going to be all right, after all..._

Predictably, Ria made her way to the high table as soon as the hall began emptying at the end of the feast. Her eyes flickered over Ro's face as soon as she was close enough to be heard and she broke into a huge smile. "You look...good, Ro. Really, really good, a lot better than the last time we saw you. Ceara said you had been healing up well but she didn't tell me you would be _here_, I thought you were going back to the Harpies! When did you decide to come?"

Ro winced. _Oh dear._ She could feel the other teachers' ears lengthening as soon as Ria greeted her. This would be very strange, having to be "authority" around Ria Taylor, even if her memory wasn't already playing tricks on her. Ro couldn't remember when Ria could have seen her since the accident, but the girl had been in the last term of her sixth year at the time of the accident, so she couldn't have seen it happen in person. _I must have still been out of it when she visited. Or I just don't remember._ "Good to see you too, Taylor," she said, hoping the girl would hear what she didn't say, "and good to be here, too. I hear you spent the summer with the Harpies, yourself. Planning on trying for a spot on your Quidditch team?"

_Wait. If she was with the Harpies, and if they're expecting her to join them in the spring..._ Ro moved her fingers in what could have been a mere conversational gesture, but was in fact one of the hand signals that the Harpies used, the one that meant "tighten the formation." Under the right conditions, it could also be interpreted as "follow me," "play along," or even "Help me!" Every Quidditch team had their own set that they never taught to outsiders. She only hoped someone had taught Ria some of the basics. _And that she doesn't think I'm begging for help._

The young woman's face registered surprise for a moment, then she answered smoothly, "Of course, Madam Hooch, I've been hoping to get this chance for years now. I wouldn't miss it for anything."

_Well, she may be more reckless than Ceara, but she's just as sharp, thank Merlin._ The spark of mischief in Ria's eyes led Ro to believe that although the young woman had read and interpreted the "play along" message correctly, Ceara (and the rest of her teammates) would definitely hear _all_ about this encounter, probably before morning. She cringed, mentally. She would _never_ hear the end of this.

By now several other students had clustered around them, all vying for her attention at the same time and making further conversation impossible. Ria let herself be elbowed aside after a few moments and soon disappeared. Ro was certain that she would turn up again at a better time. In the meantime, she was busy answering (or more precisely, not-answering) the eager questions being put to her about flying classes, Quidditch, the Harpies, the upcoming Quidditch World Cup and, worst of all, the accident she couldn't even remember. There were also requests for her autograph that she managed to put off by promising to sign something for them at the end of the summer term. _Assuming they still want it, after that much time._

Gradually, the questions slowed down and she breathed a sigh of relief. No matter how noisy and full of people the hospital had been, it had insulated her from the rest of the world; she had forgotten just how insatiable Quidditch fans could be.

A waspish voice cut the last of the conversations short. "If you are quite through holding court, Madam Hooch, I think these children need to go off to their common rooms."

The students' faces fell and they scurried out of the Hall quickly.

_You old biddy,_ Ro thought, thoroughly annoyed by the interruption, despite the fact that the woman had inadvertently rescued her before she could be questioned to death. _You simply can't _stand_ to see the fuss, can you?_ "Now, Professor McGonagall," she said pleasantly once the students were out of earshot, "that was hardly fair to them. I'm sure that this is the most exciting thing to happen here in _quite_ a few years, surely you can't blame them for being a bit enthusiastic. It's only the first night, after all, think of how excited they will be once Quidditch season opens." _It will be all you hear about for weeks, Professor, and you'll have to smile and pretend you _like_ it. I bet you'll have to come to all the games Gryffindor plays, too, and you'll have to be polite to _me_ in the process._

McGonagall's lips tightened, but she changed the subject, refusing to rise to the bait.

"You were rather late this evening, Madam Hooch."

"Was I late?"

"You weren't in your place before the Sorting started. I'd like to know how you managed to be there by the time it finished."

"Really? Well, I am sure you were quite busy, what with the Sorting and all. I expect your duties keep you occupied past having time to take note of insignificant details." _As if I would tell _you_ how I managed it,_ she thought. _If you don't know by now, you don't deserve to know._

"See that it doesn't happen again. We are supposed to be setting a _good_ example for these children, after all." With that not-quite threat, she turned and marched out of the hall.

Ro managed to make it back to her cottage before she collapsed with exhaustion. It had been an exceedingly full day, all told. If she had expected to fall asleep as soon as she had fallen into bed, however, she was disappointed. Even after she'd closed her eyes, her mind was still so filled with a riot of images that it was a long time before she could sleep. There were so many old memories summoned up by the sight of the students and the taste of the Feast; she had not thought about her Sorting and first night at Hogwarts in years. She wondered if the new Ravenclaw girls were enjoying their first night as much as she had enjoyed hers...

_That night she had a _real_ introduction to the house where she would spend the next seven years. The kind girl with the badge was a prefect, she found out, and showed all the new girls how to find the secret staircase to the Ravenclaw common room. Once inside, they went up another narrow, winding staircase to their new dormitory. Mara was one of a dozen or so new Ravenclaw girls in her year and each one of them found waiting for them the largest bed she had ever seen; immense four-posters with blue velvet curtains, plenty of fat feather pillows, and crisp white sheets. Mara's trunk was already waiting for her at the foot of her bed. The prefect showed them where the bathrooms were, cautioned them against being caught out of bounds and then left them to their own devices._

_Then, at last, she really got to meet the other girls in her year and she was happily surprised. She had been so afraid that they would be like her siblings, careless and dismissive or even worse: that they might be like the girls with whom she had gone to primary school. One and all, the girls in her home neighborhood had treated the young Mara Hooch as though she were some sort of uncanny creature, to be shunned lest her strangeness somehow cling to them. Ceara might have been her first, best, and lifelong friend, but _here_ were kindred spirits, other girls who loved reading just as much as she had. Here were people who understood why she had preferred having good books to having good clothes and who did not seem to think it meant something was wrong with her. She was not even the only one who was startled by the most commonplace wizarding items, like talking mirrors and moving paintings. She had never dreamed that she might be as happy in all her life as she was just then. In the wonder of discovery, she even forgot to be afraid of being alone with so many strangers..._

As Ro finally began sinking towards oblivion, her thoughts returned to the scene with Professor McGonagall and the problem of the woman's oh-so-obvious disapproval. She wondered what her younger self might have done about a teacher like that once she had understood how safe she was at Hogwarts...

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